


Convergence

by storiesinthedark



Series: Convergence!verse [1]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Blood and Gore, Case Fic, M/M, Post-Season/Series 03, Post-Skyfall, Pre-SPECTRE, Pre-Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-17
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-11-01 21:01:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 28,549
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10929966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesinthedark/pseuds/storiesinthedark
Summary: Convergence (n)- The process or state of coming together from different directions so as to eventually meet.'I know what I am doing, Anthea,' Mycroft responded, still staring out the window.'Timelines are not meant to be broken and reassembled. I would just prefer to not have any extra complications. A division of one fixed point in a timeline is difficult enough to handle. More could be catastrophic. You are tampering with--''We have been over this. I know the risks, and I am willing to take them.' Mycroft interrupted. He turned and sat in his desk chair, finally looking up at Anthea. 'I know you're worried about what’s going to happen. But, I have planned this out very carefully.'





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Well...I finally decided to post it. I've had this story finished and sitting "in beta" for almost two years now. But, I can't have it waiting anymore. I want to give a giant shout out to all of the betas who have at one point or another taken a look at this project. To DemonicSymphony, Zwaluw, C, E, gaffertapeandhope, and all of the members of the Anti-Diogenes Club who saw pieces of this as I wrote it, thank you so much! This fic definitely wouldn't have come as far as it did without you all. 
> 
> That said, this piece is still technically unbeta'd. All mistakes are my own. I'm just hoping there aren't too many plot holes. Updates weekly.

'You realize what you’re risking?' Anthea said, her voice cold and biting. 'You don’t know what will happen.'

She stood in the doorway of Mycroft’s second office, dressed as she always was--black pencil skirt, and crisp white button down-- with her arms crossed over her chest and Blackberry in her hand. Mycroft refused to look at her, instead focusing on the people he could see from his office window walking along the street below him, the light through the window silhouetting him in shadow.

'Mycroft,' Anthea spat. She shook her head, exasperation pulling at the edge of her words.

'I know what I am doing, Anthea,' Mycroft responded, still staring out the window.

'Timelines are not meant to be broken and reassembled. I would just prefer to not have any extra complications. A division of one fixed point in a timeline is difficult enough to handle. More could be catastrophic. You are tampering with--'

'We have been over this. I know the risks, and I am willing to take them.' Mycroft interrupted. He turned and sat in his desk chair, finally looking up at Anthea. 'I know you're worried about what’s going to happen. But, I have planned this out very carefully.'

She nodded sharply. 'Of course, Sir.'

A moment and then Mycroft asked, 'Do you have the information I asked for?'

'Yes, Sir,' Anthea replied. She quickly exited the room and returned with a manila envelope, which she placed on the end of Mycroft’s desk along with a flash drive that she pulled from her skirt pocket. 'All the information you asked for is there.'

Thank you,' Mycroft responded. He looked down and took a deep breath.

'Do you think they will take the case?' she asked.

'I don’t see why they wouldn’t. Sherlock always seems to fall prey to sentiment,' he said.

'Of course,' she responded.

'Right, then. Please have the car waiting for me in twenty minutes. No need to call ahead,' Mycroft said.

Anthea smiled and exited with a quick nod

Mycroft parsed through the files in the folder before packing them into his briefcase and heading for the car.


	2. Mycroft

Q pressed his fingers to his temples and closed his eyes before returning his attention to the screen in front of him. He focused on the red dot and pushed through the pain that was beginning to spread behind his eyes. 

'Bond, you need to turn left,' he growled out, pushing his fingers harder into the side of his head. He steeled himself and returned one hand to the keyboard in front of him. 

He typed a command, albeit a bit clumsy, and the screen zoomed in further on the blinking red dot that was Bond. He sighed. 

'Thank you, Q,' Bond’s voice came over the connection. 

It irritated Q. He took a deep breath and squinted at the screen watching the red dot follow his instructions. 

'You should make a right in about another three feet and you’ll be out of the tunnels. Once out, you should make your way back to your hotel. Your flight leaves in four hours. Check your email for check-in information.' 

'Acknowledged,' Bond said, a smile creeping into his voice and then vanishing.  'Are you all right, Q?' 

'Fine 007. I am fine. Please follow the instructions and do not worry about me.' 

'Acknowledged.' 

Q returned his other hand to his head and cringed. Why was this happening and now at all times? He pulled the earpiece free of his ear and turned his back on the screen. 

'R,' he said, glancing briefly at the brown haired woman on his left, before closing his eyes again. 'Take over. 007 should be fine, but in case he needs something. I need to take care of this.' 

'Yes, sir.' She nodded curtly and walked past him to the standing workstation at the front of the room. Then, she placed the earpiece in her ear and looked to the screen displayed on the wall. 

Satisfied that Bond would be taken care of if needed, Q took a step forward, his balance a bit off, and continued out of the mission room. He arrived at his office door moments later to find it unlocked. He reached for the doorknob but hesitated. He was sure that he had locked it before leaving to run Bond’s mission, but here it was unlocked. He withdrew his hand and pressed his back against the wall next to the door, making himself as small as possible. Someone was in his office.

The pain in his head began to spread from behind his eyes to the right side of his head. There was no way to avoid whoever was sitting inside, not with the pain in his head. He clenched his teeth and reached for the doorknob. 

The door swung open, tapping the wall gently to slow it down. A man had taken up residence in the chair behind Q’s desk. His hair was short and combed over the right side of his head, but of a similar colour to Q’s. He grinned as Q entered the room. 

'Mycroft. I should’ve known,' Q spat. He walked behind his desk, shoving his brother out of the way to get at the desk drawers. 

'Yes, brother mine. Were you expecting someone else?' 

'I wasn’t entirely certain who to expect since I locked the office after I left.' Q smirked as he pulled a bottle of paracetamol from the drawer. 

He shook one loose and reached for the teacup that sat on his desk, now containing cold and perhaps old tea. Q didn’t care. He threw the small pill into his mouth and took a swig of the tea to wash it down, and then he turned on Mycroft. 

'Is there a reason you’ve come, brother mine?’' Q’s eyes locked on Mycroft and refused to break. 

'Got a case for you,' Mycroft said, pulling a small black thumb drive from his inside blazer pocket. 

'No,' Q replied. 'Besides, I haven’t taken cases in years. What makes you think I’ll take this one now?' 

'Because, brother mine, it concerns your beloved 007.' 

Q stared at him, eyes sharp. 'You have my attention.' 

'I thought so,' Mycroft smirked. 'Will you take it?' 

'I don’t know what the case is, so I can’t possibly know whether I will take it or not.' 

'Sherlock Holmes, do not be blind. Look around you and make a deduction.' 

Q cringed. 'I am not Sherlock anymore. We’re finished. You can leave the drive on my desk and I will look into it later today once I have assured 007’s safe return to England. Then, we can talk about this new assignment.'

Mycroft smiled, his lips pressed together. 'Of course. Do be in touch.' 

Mycroft stood and buttoned his jacket. He looked Q over and then left, shutting Q’s door behind him.  

Once Mycroft was gone, Q sat in his desk chair and pressed his fingers to his temples. The pain in his head now dulled to an irritating ache. He reached for the drive, plugged it into his computer and opened it up. The drive contained one folder labeled ‘Gerald Kripe.’ 

He clicked on the folder, opening it up to reveal hundreds of documents. This was going to be more complicated than he originally thought.

 

\----

Sherlock Holmes stared at the ceiling, his fingers pressed against his lips. The slight cracks seemed to be multiplying the longer he stared at them, which could not be a good sign. He blinked long and hard and then swung his legs and stood up, wobbling slightly in the process. 

'John!' he called and he began moving toward the kitchen. 'John!' He steadied himself with the back of the chair. 

'Yes, Sherlock?' John said, emerging from the bathroom his face and hands covered in shaving foam. 

'John,' he groaned. 'When you have a moment…' Sherlock maneuvered himself to sit in the chair in the kitchen and pressed his fingers hard into his temples. He squeezed his eyes shut and tensed at the pain spreading through his head. 

John stared at him a moment before disappearing into the bathroom and returning, the shaving foam gone from his face and hands. 

'Let me see,' John said. 

He kneeled at Sherlock’s side and gently removed one of his hands from his head. Then John turned the chair away from the table and toward him, placing one hand on Sherlock’s knee. 

'Eyes open. Look at me. Did you hit your head? Or---' 

'No, John. I did not hit my head,' Sherlock snapped. 

'Ok. Ok. Then what happened? Working with chemicals?' 

'John, honestly. I was--' 

'Just checking all of the possibilities. What were you doing?' 

'Lying on the sofa, staring at the ceiling. Thinking. Moving some things around in my mind palace. Minor things, I might add.' 

John pressed his lips together and nodded. 'I’d say just a migraine.'

He stood up, using his hand on Sherlock’s knee for balance and then opened one of the cabinets above the counters. He pulled out a small box and removed a white pill from the packaging. He turned back to Sherlock, picked up his hand and placed the pill in his palm. 

'Take this and lie on the couch. Just try to the rest, ok? No thinking too hard. Nothing. Understand?' 

Sherlock stared up at John, trying to push the deductions flying toward him out of his mind. 'Fine,' he grumbled, throwing the pill into his mouth and dry swallowing it. 

He stood quickly and walked back toward the sofa, his burgundy dressing gown elegantly trailing behind. He threw himself on the sofa and curled up facing the back. John rolled his eyes and once he was sure Sherlock wasn’t going to make any sudden moves, he returned to the bathroom to finish shaving. 

Sherlock laid on the sofa, forcing his eyes to focus on the back of it. He analysed the colour and fabric and catalogued them into his mind palace. The sound of the bathroom door closing caught his attention and pulled him back to reality. 

'Filing the petition today?' Sherlock asked, sitting up and looking over at John. 

John made his way over to his old beaten armchair and sat down. He put his shoes on and shook his head. 

'How did you...You know what? I’m unsure why I’m surprised that you knew about the divorce. It’s been a long year. Mary and I have spoken about it, so yes. I am.' 

Sherlock smiled. 'John…' 

'Yeah, Sherlock?'  

A pain coursed through his head and he squeezed his eyes shut, tensing his whole body. The pain subsided moments later and Sherlock released the tension from his body. He looked up at John through the curls that had fallen across his face.  

'I’ll be fine. You’ve got things that you need to do. I’ll be here,' Sherlock whispered. 

'Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, please. I’ll have Mrs. Hudson check on you if I’m not back within the hour. Should just be a migraine. But, please just rest to be certain.' John pleaded, crossing the short distance from his chair to the sofa. 

He leaned down and placed a small kiss in Sherlock’s hair before turning and heading down the stairs out of the flat. 

Sherlock returned himself to his horizontal position on the sofa and stared back at the cracks in the ceiling. This time they did not multiply as he stared as they had earlier. He steepled his fingers beneath his chin and pressed his lips together, focusing on one particular crack. It was longer than the others, meaning that more pressure must have been applied to that point. What was above them to make such a crack? He thought about the layout of the flat for a moment more and then smirked when he realized that John’s bed sat just above the living room.  

His phone chimed and Sherlock snapped his head toward the coffee table where the device laid, the smirk fading. He grabbed it swiftly and stared at the message the written across the screen. 

 

_ Case. Important. Please contact immediately. MH _

 

'Mycroft,' Sherlock growled at the phone. 'Probably getting his teeth cleaned again. Not interested.' 

Sherlock swung his legs to the floor and threw the phone back to the coffee table. It made a thump as it hit.  He ran his fingers through his hair and then over his entire face. Then, he shook his head and sighed. He would deal with this when John returned. 

 

\----

Q scrolled through the files for the sixteenth time, there had to be something he was missing. He sprawled across his desk in front of the monitor. The mental list of what he needed to do growing faster than he had hoped. 

He sat up, removed his glasses and ran his arms across his eyes and then replaced them. He took a deep breath. This case was not what he wanted to expend his energy on, but he couldn’t just let it sit. Mycroft would act on this if he didn’t do something. He looked at the currently open file.

 

_ Wanted in connection with the murder of millionaire Gerald Kripe.  _

 

_ Suspected Subject _

_ Date(s) of Birth Used: 1979 _

_ Place of Birth: Unknown _

_ Height: 5’8" to 5’10" _

_ Weight: 170 _

_ Build: Average _

_ Occupation: Unknown _

_ Hair Colour: Blond _

_ Eye Colour: Blue   _

_ Complexion: Average  _

_ Sex: Male  _

_ Nationality: British _

_ Scars and Marks: Bullet wound on left shoulder.  _

_ Remarks: Notable marksman. No known affiliations.  _

 

A blurry photo of a man of average build with short-cropped hair, who was beginning to age, accompanied the description. 

Shit. This could have fit any male in the London area if it hadn’t been for one simple thing. The scar. Bond had gotten it on his mission three years ago when he had gone after Raoul Silva. Q knew that mission had cost him nearly everything and he wouldn't let that scar be the reason he was accused of a crime against England. 

Q sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to organize in his mind exactly how he needed to approach this subject. He could feel his fingers moving as he sorted out the various possibilities on the list in his head.

After a few minutes of sorting through various scenarios in his mind palace, he was no closer to figuring out the most appropriate way to broach the subject. He groaned and let his head fall back against the back of the chair. 

The knock on the door that brought Q out of his head was distinctive and he stared at the door in a moment of horror. This had to be the worst timing. Fuck. 

'Come in,' he called, exiting the file and putting his computer in sleep mode.  

Eve swung the door open forcefully and winced briefly when she heard it hit the wall. 

'Can I help you with something Eve?' He sat up straighter in his chair, looking like the MI6 executive he was hired to be. 

'Coming to check on you Q. R’s a bit worried. Said you left Bond and rushed back to the office with a headache.' She smiled and placed herself in the chair opposite Q’s desk. She reached out and grabbed the Rubik’s cube from Q’s desk and began twisting the coloured rows. 

'Yeah. One of the worst that I’ve had.' 

She frowned. 'Have you been getting them a lot lately?' 

Q stood still and looked down at his desk, his fingers moving idly toward a pen that sat mere inches away. 

'You’re a terrible liar,' she said, placing the toy back on the edge of his desk. 'How long have you been having the headaches?' 

'Started a few days ago.' 

'Have you told Bond?' 

'He’s been on a mission. No need to worry him.' 

'Q.' 

'What?' he said, shrugging and rolling his eyes. 'They haven’t been that bad until today.' 

'You’re an idiot, just like 007,' she stood and turned walking toward the door. 'I suggest going to Medical, but when do you ever listen to me?'

She closed the door behind her as she left and Q sighed in relief. He leaned back in his chair and tapped his fingers on his desk. Eve’s concern was genuine, but he had other problems to worry about. What was he going to do about this case? 

 

\----

'No,' Sherlock said as he opened the door and immediately attempted to close it again. 

'Sherlock,' Mycroft began, placing his umbrella in the door. 'Don’t be so juvenile, brother mine.' 

Sherlock grumbled. He turned from the door and then rushed up the stairs, stomping toward his bedroom, the sound of Mycroft’s footsteps following him. He threw himself on his bed and buried his head in the pillows.  

The door opened slowly and Mycroft strode into the room, looking around at situation. He rolled his eyes.  

'Brother mine, you are acting like a complete and utter child,' he said, examining his umbrella and ignoring Sherlock entirely. 'Please do grow up and speak with me like an adult. I will wait.' He turned and left the bedroom, leaving Sherlock alone sulking on his bed.

Sherlock didn’t move. He laid on his bed, legs pulled to his chest as tightly as he could, listening for any sign of movement in other parts of the flat. Nothing. He heard nothing, which meant that Mycroft had yet to leave. Fuck. 

The door to the flat opened quietly and a separate set of footsteps crossed the living room. Sherlock smiled. The height and gait were extremely recognizable. John. 

The footsteps grew louder toward the living room, paused for a moment and then turned toward the bedroom door, but stopped just outside. 

'You can come in you know,' Sherlock called, his voice muffled by the pillows. 

John pushed open the door. 'Is there a reason your brother is sitting in our living room in my chair?' 

Sherlock rolled over slightly to look at John.

'So?' John said, giving Sherlock his 'explain' face. 

Sherlock sighed. 'He has a case. I’m not interested.' 

'Have you heard what it is yet?' 

Sherlock huffed and rolled back over, burying his head in the pillows once again. 

'That’s what I thought. He would go away if you talked with him instead of acting like a prat. You know what…never mind. Never mind. I’m just going to let him sit out there. You have to come out at some point.' John rolled his eyes and left the bedroom. 

Sherlock breathed deeply as he heard the door shut behind John. This was useless. Mycroft was just as stubborn as he was. John was right, as John usually was. He would need to just speak with Mycroft and then he would he leave. 

He groaned and rolled off of the bed, his feet landing with a thud. He shook himself out, stormed toward the door and then threw it open. It hit the wall hard, but it didn’t disturb Sherlock’s concentration. He made his way out to the sitting room to find Mycroft sitting in John’s armchair, just as John had said, his legs crossed at the knees and John sitting at his desk, acting like he was updating his blog. 

'I don’t want your case Mycroft,' Sherlock hissed, taking the chair opposite his brother. 

'Oh, I think you might,' Mycroft said. He reached down to the small table and picked up a manila file folder. He smirked and handed it to Sherlock. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and sighed, grabbing the folder from Mycroft’s hand. 'I suppose you want me to read it now.' 

'If you wouldn’t mind. I recommend John also not being present in the room. Do as you like, of course, but the consequences are ones you must deal with.' 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on Mycroft and then he turned to look at John, his expression softening. 

'I’ll go,' John said, smiling at Sherlock. 'Just don’t take too long, ok?' 

John stood from his chair and went up the stairs to his old room. Mycroft waited until he heard the door close before he spoke.  

'This case needs your utmost attention. An English entrepreneur has been murdered,' Mycroft began, watching his fingers tap on the handle of his umbrella. 'Sherlock Holmes, do not roll your eyes at me. I have brought this case to you because it involves John. I suggest you take it seriously.' 

Sherlock’s head snapped to attention to face Mycroft. His lips pressed together and his eyes bored into Mycroft’s. 

'You must be mistaken.' 

'I’m afraid not Sherlock. We have a description of the suspect and it fits John rather well. The photo is also a close match.' 

'Wrong!' Sherlock stood from the chair with such force the bookcases rattled slightly. He threw the folder to the table, it’s contents scattered. Mycroft sat unmoved. 

'Sherlock, there is no need to get emotional about this.' 

'I’m not emotional,' he hissed, moving to the sofa. 

'That’s not what your actions convey.'  

'It can’t be John. Whoever you have in that folder isn’t John.'  

Mycroft closed his eyes. 'Sherlock, I understand that you are in love with him, but that does not take away the possibility that he committed this crime.' 

'He couldn’t.'  

'You don’t know that. You were gone for two years and he is married. You no longer know his every move.' 

Sherlock was quiet. 

'I see,' Mycroft began. 'If you would like to continue your relationship with him in the manner that you seem to, I suggest you take the case.' 

He gathered the contents of the folder and shoved them back inside. He stood and strode toward Sherlock, the manila folder in hand. 

'Take the case. Or let the government do their job and deal with the consequences.' He held out the folder. 

Sherlock stared at him, the disdain clear in his eyes. 'Fine.' He stood and snatched the folder from Mycroft’s hands, then opened it to the first page, a copy of an article from The Guardian. Sherlock scoffed at the poorly written content that provided little information beyond a biography.

 

_Gerald Kripe Obituary_  

_ Gerald Kripe, who has died aged 65, was the Founder and CEO of Severine Electronics, the company responsible for many advances in global satellite technology. The current CEO of the company, Kripe planned to take the company public in the next year and continue the advances of global positioning technology.  _

_ Born and raised in Kent, Kripe began as a schoolboy at Blean Primary School, where he excelled in maths. He attended Spires Academy for secondary school and then went on to study maths at King's College in London. He married his wife, Patricia Moore, in 1983 and raised four children with her before her death in 2004.  _

_ He is survived by one son and three daughters.  _

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He flipped a few more pages of the file, skimming them briefly as he went. He stopped when a page listing the description of a suspect caught his attention. 

 

_ Suspected Subject _

_ Date(s) of Birth Used: 1979 _

_ Place of Birth: Unknown _

_ Height: 5’8" to 5’10" _

_ Weight: 170lbs _

_ Build: Average _

_ Occupation: Unknown _

_ Hair Colour: Blond _

_ Eye Colour: Blue   _

_ Complexion: Average  _

_ Sex: Male  _

_ Nationality: British _

_ Scars and Marks: Bullet wound on left shoulder.  _

_ Remarks: Notable marksman. No known affiliations.  _

 

He grinned. The man in the blurry photo resembled John, though he couldn't be entirely sure. This was interesting. How could John have managed this without Sherlock noticing? 

'Where did you get this?' Sherlock continued to flip through the pages. 

'I thought you would find it interesting,' Mycroft smirked. 'It’s a priority for the government to find this man and thus it came across my desk.' 

'It couldn’t have been John.' 

'Sherlock, we have been through this. You cannot know that.' 

'I can,' he snapped, closing the folder and tossing it on the coffee table. 

'Then prove it,' Mycroft challenged. 'I look forward to it. Do tell John farewell for me and take care of yourself, brother mine.' 

Mycroft grinned, then turned and left. Sherlock sprawled himself out on the couch and stared at the ceiling, his fingers pressed together beneath his chin. How was he going to explain this to Mycroft? There had to be an easier way than the current one.

 

\----

'Gerald Kripe,' Sherlock began as John made his way back down the stairs. 'Any idea who he is?' He was still lying on the sofa from Mycroft’s departure. His fingers still pressed together, his face unreadable. 

John paused for a moment on the bottom stair before continuing his momentum toward the kitchen. 'No. Should I?' 

'I didn’t think you would.' 

'Then why did you...you know what, nevermind.' John reached up into the cabinet and removed a mug along with a tea bag. 

Sherlock sat up from his lying position on the sofa and ran his fingers through his hair then cracking his neck and back. 

'I needed to hear you say that you didn’t know who I was talking about,' Sherlock said, standing up and wandering into the kitchen. 

He stood behind John and placed his chin on his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around John’s waist and John squeaked slightly at the sudden touch. He smiled and placed a light kiss on the top of John’s ear.

'When you’re finished making tea, we have got a case we need to discuss.' 

He released John and returned to the sofa, his dressing gown billowing behind him. 

Once John made his way into the living room and settled himself in his chair, Sherlock sat up, his eyes scanning every inch of John. He smiled.

'Ok, now that’s just getting creepy,' John said, he stared back at Sherlock. 'Care to tell me what this case we’re discussing is about?' 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and his smile spread further up his lips. He licked his lips. 'Where were you on the night of February 17, 2015?' 

'Well that’s very specific,' John said. He pressed his lips together and then leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. 'February 17. I believe, now correct me if I’m wrong, which you will I’m sure, but I’m pretty sure I was with you for a majority of that day in that bedroom.' He pointed a finger toward Sherlock’s room. 

'Yes,' Sherlock said.

John stared at him, letting silence sit between them for a moment. 'What--what does that have to do with anything?'  

Sherlock’s eyes flicked down to the manila folder on the table and back up to John’s face. 'It means that you couldn’t possibly be the man in this photo that Mycroft claims is you,' he said, picking up the folder and extending it toward John. John took it reluctantly. 'You couldn’t have murdered Gerald Kripe.'  

'Murdered? Sherlock, what? The British government thinks that I murdered a man?' 

'Yes,' he said, sinking to the back of the sofa. 

'But, I didn’t.' 

'Well--'

'No, Sherlock. I did not murder this man.' 

'No you most certainly did not murder this one. Others in the past are debatable, but certainly not this one.' 

John rolled his eyes. 'Prat. Now, what’s this?' 

He opened the folder and began flipping through the pages. 

'These are the case files on the murder of Gerald Kripe, CEO of Severine Enterprises. Look at the suspect description. It fits you.' 

'But we already determined that I couldn’t have done it.' 

'Exactly. So, who is this man who looks like you? And why is Mycroft convinced it is you?' 

 

\----

Q flicked through the documents on the flash drive. He had done so at least fifty times more since Eve had left. It was obsessive but necessary he knew. He ran his fingers through his hair and then down over his face. He was sure of it. Bond was innocent of this hit, there was no doubt about it. 

He sighed a bit in relief and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. He closed his eyes for a moment, but they shot open when he heard the door to his office unlatch. 

He sat up straight, hand on the middle drawer of his desk where he stashed an emergency pistol and looked ahead to the intruder into his office. 

'Q?' a low voice hummed. Q recognized the voice instantaneously and removed his hand from the drawer, giving in to the smile that began to pull at his face. 

'Bond. I thought you were meeting me at home,' he said, his throat relaxing to let the words sound more natural. 

Bond approached and sat in the chair opposite Q. He threw his feet up onto Q’s desk and grinned. 

'I was. Actually, I went home first and found you to be remarkably absent from the flat. So as your brother likes to tell you, I made a deduction,' Bond said as Q groaned at the words. 'If you weren’t at home there was really only one other place you could be. At your second home, otherwise known as your office.' 

Q tried to hold back a genuine smile, but it escaped. 'Well done. Now the important question. Did you bring back your equipment?' 

'Did I bring back my equipment? Yes, Q.' 

Bond reached into his shoulder holster and produced a still intact Walther PPK. He then shifted and produced an earpiece and a small silver radio transmitter from inside his pocket. He placed them all on Q’s desk and leaned back in his chair, a smile pulling at the side of his mouth.

'Glad to see the equipment in one piece this time 007.' 

'Only the best for you Q.'  

Q rolled his eyes. He reached for the Walther and examined it, turning it over in his hands. He replaced it on his desk again and then picked up the other pieces of equipment. Satisfied enough with the condition, he set them next to the Walther and moved around his desk to Bond. 

He leaned against his desk and folded his arms across his chest. He smiled and as if like clockwork, Bond’s mobile rang. Q smirked. 

Bond pulled it from his pocket, looked briefly at the caller ID and quickly hit the reject key before replacing it in his pocket. 

‘Avoiding M. I see,’ Q said. 

‘He can wait until I’ve had a proper welcome back from my Quartermaster.’ 

‘Right. Well, before we go, I have to ask,' he began. 'Does the name Gerald Kripe mean anything to you?' 

Bond stared at him. 'Q--' 

'Bond, I need you be honest. If you know him or know of him, I need to know. Now.' 

'All right. I know of him. Founder and CEO of Severine Electronics. He was working on a contract with MI5. Satellite technology I believe.' 

'Yes. Anything else?' 

'I knew him when I was a child. He was a family friend. We haven’t spoken much in recent years. Can I ask why you’re asking about him?' 

Q bit his lip and nodded. 'You don’t know anything else?' 

'No. Should I?' 

'No. Confirms what I already knew.' 

'Care to enlighten me on whatever it is that you’re trying to get out of me?' 

Q circled back to his desk and pulled up the files. He gestured for Bond to come over and turned the screen to face him. 

'This is the case file on the murder of Gerald Kripe.' 

Bond froze, his face remained a neutral mask. 'Go on.' 

'This is the suspect MI5 is searching for. Sound familiar?' 

Bond read over the file and the description of the suspect. 

'They’re looking for me. 

Q nodded slowly.

'But, it can’t be me. I was on a mission in France in February for the month.' 

The silence lingered between them. Bond reached out and took Q’s hand. 

'Where did you get this?'

'Mycroft. Brought it to me because the suspect resembles you.' 

'But, it’s not.' 

'Yes.' 

'Then who is it?' 

'Good question.'


	3. Gerald Kripe

The restaurant was small, comfortable and very private. The walls were painted in a deep scarlet and many of the accents of the space were trimmed in gold. Only a handful of people were able to be seated and there were patrons waiting at the front for a table.

John surveyed the room, continuing to follow the crowd to the hostess station. 

'How can I help you, sir?' the blonde woman behind the hostess station asked. Her smile was large, but John could sense a hint of tension behind the cheerful gesture. 

'I’m actually meeting someone. I think he’s already...ah there he is,' he said, looking past her to the other patrons of the restaurant. He smiled at the woman. 'Excuse me.' 

He made his way over to the table, careful to stay away from the other waiters, all of which looked just as tense as the hostess. He slid into the booth across from Sherlock. 

'How many of them have you insulted?' 

Sherlock sighed. 'Is it my fault that everyone here is an idiot?' 

'They can’t all be idiots, Sherlock!' 

'Well, they are!' 

John sighed. 'Fine. Why are we here, by the way? The note you left on the door didn’t exactly explain it.' He folded his hands on the table and ran his tongue over his lips. 

'We’re here to meet Miss Evans, Mister Kripe’s assistant. Ask her a few questions. See what she knows about the case.' Sherlock stared at the front of the restaurant. 

'Didn’t the report already talk with her? I’m pretty sure I heard you mention her testimony several times when looking over the file.' 

'Yes, but do you really trust the file? Because I most certainly want to hear it for myself.' 

'Of course, you do. I trust the file enough to use the dates provided to prove I didn’t murder the man.' 

'But do you trust them completely? Or are you looking for an alternate solution to prove the dates are correct?'  

John bit his lip and didn’t answer. 

'Thought so,' Sherlock continued. 'And there she is.' 

He turned back to face John. 'Act normal.' He smiled. 

The woman who approached the table was slightly shorter than John with red hair that hung to her shoulders. She wore a teal headband that matched her belt and shoes. Her dress was a simple black cocktail dress that fell just below the knee. Clearly trying to dress younger than her age, Sherlock mentally noted. 

'Mister Holmes?' she asked as she approached the table. She smiled. 

'Miss Evans,' Sherlock said, he stood and extended his hand to shake hers. 'It’s a pleasure. Thank you so much for meeting us.' 

'Please call me Sylvia. Anything I can do to help, I’m willing to do,' she said, sliding into the booth next to John. 

'We thank you for that. Let’s order first and then we’ll chat.' Sherlock smiled, his charming, people-loving smile, and Sylvia relaxed a bit. 

The waiter came and took the order. He returned moments later with three glasses of red wine. 

'So, you were Mister Kripe’s assistant? For how long?' 

'Right into it then,' she smiled, a sadness pulling at the edges of her eyes. 'I’d worked with him for about seven years. But, I knew him for much longer than that. Friend of mine from uni. Got me the job when I was out of work.' 

Sherlock nodded. 'And how long had you been having the affair?' 

'How did you--how did you know?' she stuttered. She hung her head, biting on her lower level. 

'That’s not what’s important. What’s important is how long the affair had been going on and if you had noticed anything strange in Mister Kripe’s behaviour before he was murdered.' 

She looked up at him. 'Seven years. That’s when it started. I had some problems with my marriage and he was there for me. He was a widower. Near the end, he started acting a bit odd. Receiving threatening letters and always looking over his shoulder,' she hesitated for a moment. 'He left me about a week before he died. Said it would be better this way, safer. I wasn’t sure what was going on. I’m still not.' 

'Do you know if he would have had any enemies?' John leaned forward and folded his hands on the table. 

Sylvia’s eyes widened and her face read of shock. 'I’m sorry,' she said. 'Are you implying that this wasn’t just a mugging?' 

John retreated from the table and looked to Sherlock. 

'There is some indication that Mr. Kripe’s murder was not an accident. We’re looking into every possibility,' Sherlock said.  

She nodded. 'I’m sorry,' she said. 'Gerald tended to keep his professional life with me and his personal one separate. I don’t know any of the inner workings of the company. I only did the filing. He wouldn’t even let me keep his schedule. He said he preferred to keep it himself. He didn’t have any enemies in his personal life that I know of. Honestly, there weren’t many people beyond me in his life.' She tapped her fingers on the table before moving them into her lap. 

Sherlock smiled. 'It’s all right.' 

The waiter arrived with their food not long after the conversation had turned from Gerald Kripe to Sylvia’s life now that her lover was gone. They ate and the conversation continued hitting themes of failed marriages, broken families and oddly enough, mortuary science. Once dinner had concluded, Sherlock and John saw Sylvia off and then hailed a cab back to Baker Street. 

'How helpful was she?' John began as the cab pulled up outside of the flat door. 

Sherlock swanned out of the cab, while John paid the man before following him. 

'She was very helpful,' Sherlock replied as he crossed into the living room of the flat. 

'How? She confirmed things we already knew.' 

'No.' 

'What do you mean no?' 

'No. She gave us more than that.' 

'Like what?' 

'Her clothes. They were extremely nice. High quality. No doubt expensive.' 

'He probably bought them for her. They were having an affair after all.' 

'He stopped seeing her weeks before he died. She said so herself. Those clothes are new, which means she has extra money. An assistant’s job would likely not pay for those clothes. She has extra income.' 

He moved to John’s laptop and began typing. 'And the Google search reveals that Miss Sylvia Evans is the new CEO of Severine Electronics.' 

'So, what? She had him murdered?' 

'Not--' A pain shot behind eye and Sherlock grabbed the right side of his head. 

'Sherlock?' John rushed to his side, fighting Sherlock’s strength to move his hand from his head. 'What’s wrong?' 

Sherlock took a deep breath and but didn’t speak a word. 

 

\----

'Kings College,' Bond began. 'Why are you heading there?' 

'That’s where Kripe’s son is currently attending university. Studying political science from all the articles I can find.' 

Bond leaned against the doorway to Q’s home office, arms crossed over his chest. He smiled slightly, but his eyes betrayed him. He was worried and Q, of course, noticed. He got up from his desk and stood, rubbing his hands up and down the side of Bond’s arms.

'I’m going to figure out who did this and I know it wasn’t you. I’ve informed M. that I will be out of the office,' he smiled. 'I’ll only be gone the day.' 

'I know.' 

'Yes, I know you know. You’re worried about me. I don’t think the son’s the murderer. None of the information in the file or in any of our databases indicates that he has any connection to the murder beyond being related to the victim. I’m just looking for information and I’m not going that far.' 

'I know.' 

'I did this a lot before I joined MI6, you know. Chasing bad guys, working with the Met.' 

Bond closed his eyes and nodded. 

'You’re still worried.' 

'Yes, Q. I’m worried.' 

'It’s just a chat with a university student. I’ll be back later tonight. It’s not like I’m going to a third world country on a mission,' he paused, searching Bond’s face for a reaction. 'Emotional responses such as worry are caused by fear of the unknown. We know what I’m doing.' 

'Of course. Right.' He looked up at Q and pulled him into a hug. 'Just promise me you’ll be careful.' 

'I will be. I’ve done this many, many times before. Think I’ll pay Lestrade a visit while I’m there. See if he knows anything about the case.' 

Bond laughed. 'I’m sure he’ll be thrilled. Just what he wants to see. You working cases again instead of occupied with hacking and lab experiments and criminals with MI6.' 

Q smiled. 'See. Nothing to worry about. I’ll be back in the evening and I’ll have annoyed Lestrade. Day well spent.' 

'Come here,' Bond grabbed Q and pulled him into a light kiss. 

It was light, soft and gentle and Q hummed as Bond began to deepen the kiss. He pulled back slightly, before leaning in for one more small peck. 

'As much as I would like to spend the morning doing other things, I have an appointment with Mr. Kripe’s son that I need to keep.' 

Bond chuckled. 'You have an appointment?' 

'Students, interestingly enough, have scheduled lives just like the rest of us. So, yes. I have an appointment.' 

He moved away from Bond and grabbed a flash drive off of his desk and shoved it in his pocket. Then he smiled and pushed past Bond out of his office and disappeared out the front door of the flat. 

The walk from Montague Street to the Waterloo campus of King’s College was pleasant and relatively quick. Twenty-five minutes at Q’s average pace with the sun peaking through the clouds and a gentle breeze occasionally making an appearance. Q walked with his head down, his hands shoved in his pockets, and his brown messenger bag slung over his shoulder. He evaluated the questions he was going to ask but eventually dismissed them all. He would improvise, he decided. He was good at that. 

He looked like he could have been in school himself as he approached the large beige building. He smiled as he thought back on his time in university. The ridiculous amount of time he spent by himself looking for friends, trying to fit in. He shook it from his mind as he opened the door to the student union building. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone and made his way to sit in one of the red plush spherical chairs. 

He placed his bag next to his chair and looked around. A young man dressed in a tan suit with blonde hair and blue eyes that reminded Q of Bond’s approached not long after he had settled.

'Mister Holmes?' the young man asked, extending his hand in greeting.

'Yes. Hello.' Q stood and returned the handshake, before gesturing to the seat across from him. He reached into his bag and pulled out a notepad and a pen. 

'So,' the young man began. His hands pulled at the seams of his trousers. 'It’s not that I mean to rush, but I do have a class I’ll need to get to in about an hour. What is it you wanted to meet me about? You’re a private detective?'

'Yes. I’m actually here to talk about your father’s death.' His eyes darted around, taking in all the details, deducing their origin and meaning.  _ Unironed suit- one-night stand last night. Sweaty palm- just woke up, pretending to be put together.  _  'I understand if you don’t--'

'No,' the young man interrupted. 'It’s fine.' He placed his hands between his knees and smiled unevenly. 

'Thank you,' Q responded. He looked down to his notepad. He knew what he needed to ask, but clearly, the boy needed him to not appear as a threat. He would start this slowly and build to get the answers he needed. Not as time effective, but more likely to not scare the boy.  

'When was the last time you saw your father, Mister Kripe?' 

'It’s Tom, actually. I didn’t see him much. Not after my mother died,' 

'She died?' 

'Yeah, about three years ago. He was having an affair while my mother was sick. Moment I could get rid of him, I did.' 

Q nodded, making a notation on his notepad. Well, this was a bit different than what the file said. 'And what about your sisters? Did they share your views on your father?' 

'They had their own views, but they left him too. Different reasons, same result,' he paused, pressing his lips together. 'I think Julie’s in New Zealand now and Lauren’s off acting in the West End. I hear from them once a year. Either Christmas or my birthday.' 

'You said your father was having an affair. Do you know with whom?' 

Tom scoffed and raised his head to meet Q’s eyes. 'Of course, I know. Everyone who worked in that bloody company knew. His secretary. Like an old fifties stereotype that man. 

'She runs the company now you know? Left it to her in his will. Left everything to her. Nothing to his actual family, but everything to the whore he had while my mother died.' He struggled to keep his voice steady and at a reasonable volume. 

He hung his head, running his hands over his face.

'I mean, what kind of father does that to his son?' 

Q placed the pad down on the table between them. 'I’m sure he had his reasons,' he said, letting the weight of the conversation hang between them like fog. 

Moments passed until Tom spoke again. 'I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to...it’s just so frustrating. I know you only had a few questions. Did you have any others?' 

'Just one. Do you have any idea as to why someone would try to murder your father? Did he have any friends or enemies?' 

Tom smiled and chuckled slightly. 'I’m sorry. The question just sounds a little silly. I mean...I don’t mean to laugh, it’s just that the question makes him sound like he has an evil villain after him. In all honesty, I don’t know of anyone who would want to hurt him, but then again I hardly spoke to him near the end,' he looked down at his watch and began gathering what very little he had brought with him. 'I have to go now. I hope I was helpful.' 

'Yes, you were indeed. Thank you. If I find anything out, I’ll let you know.' 

‘No need. Murder, accident or suicide, the results still the same. It doesn’t change much.’ 

Q and Tom stood up and they shook hands, then they parted ways. Q sat back down in the red cushioned chair and began chewing on on his fingernails. Then he picked up the notepad, made a few scribbles on the page and packed his bag again before leaving and catching the tube at Waterloo. 

After a fifteen-minute tube ride and a quick transfer at Westminster, Q stared up at the almost entirely windowed building. The afternoon sunlight reflecting in the windows. Oh, this was going to be fun. 

He walked to the visitor's entrance and pulled out his MI6 ID, flashing it briefly to the guard and walking through. He smiled as he watched the new staff at the Met continue to go about their business, while the older ones almost ran for cover. 

His feet followed the familiar path and he came upon Lestrade’s office with a different name on the door. He knew he had been away for a while, but this was uncalled for. He sighed. Maybe he had been out of this world and working for the government for too long. It had only been eleven years since his actual last case as a consultant, but he had worked on a lot of missions, which were similar. 

Q made his way back to the lobby and found himself the directory. His eyes scanned the sign. Lestrade…...221. He nodded and headed straight to the elevator. 

This office was bigger than the last and Q smiled at that knowledge. Lestrade has obviously done well since Q had seen him last.  He opened the door to the office, but Lestrade was nowhere to be found. He walked behind the large oak desk, sat in the black leather chair and propped his feet up on the desk. This was much better than the last time he saw Lestrade. 

'What are you doing in here? I thought you were working for the government or something and you’d be out of my hair!' Lestrade groaned as he pushed through his office door a coffee in one hand and a stack of files in the other. He smiled and laughed. He dropped the files on his desk and pulled Sherlock from the chair into a large embrace. 

'You bastard! How’ve you been?' He released Q and pushed passed him, before dropping into his chair. 

Q smiled and moved to the other side of Lestrade’s desk. He perched on the edge, his finger fiddling with the pens on the desk. 

'Well. I’ve been well. See you’ve been promoted.'

'Yeah. Solve a few murders that appeared to be suicides and all of a sudden they promote you to Detective Chief Inspector. Bigger office. Pay raise. Has its perks. Learned from watching you, so guess I should be thanking you for this,' he said, gesturing around the office. 'But you’re here now and you’re with the government. You’ve got questions for me I take it.' 

Q stopped moving the pens around and looked at Lestrade. 'Yes.' 

'Let’s hear it then.' 

'I’m looking into the murder of Mister Gerald Kripe of Severine Electronics. February 17, 2015. Anything you have on the case, I need.' 

'Sherlock, you know that I can’t just pull those files for you.' 

Q pulled out his MI6 ID. Somethings never change. 'It’s official government business.' 

Lestrade sighed. 'It’s worse now that you have your own. At least I could tell you no when you nicked Mycroft’s.'  

He stood up and left the office. The banter resonating with Q and revitalizing his adrenaline and interest in cases. 

'What are you doing here?' a familiar female voice said. 

Q turned and smirked as he took in the woman leaning against the doorway. Time hadn’t changed her as much as it had changed him it seemed. Her hair was still dark and curled and she wore a grey suit with a lavender shirt. 

'Visiting Lestrade, Sally,' he said. 'How’ve you been?' 

'Fine. It’s nice, but strange to not have you hanging around here all the time. You’re not here to start hanging around again are you?' 

'No. Lucky for you. I’m here for one case only,' he said, giving her a toothy grin. 

'Right. Well, I will leave you to it then. No need for you to bother me,' she chuckled, turning on her heel and passing Lestrade as she left. 

Lestrade looked back at her briefly as she passed. 'Seems you two aren’t arguing anymore?' 

'We never argued. I did my job and she was annoyed. She’s less annoyed now that I’m no longer here chasing criminals,' he said. 'What did you find?' 

'You’re lucky Myrtle likes me.' 

‘Myrtle?’ 

‘The new record keeper. This request should have taken days to pull. Filed away almost nearly as quickly as we opened the case. There’s not much here. One person who claimed to have seen the incident, but he disappeared before we could question him further. No other evidence. Crime scene was clean.' 

'Odd.' 

'Yeah, but not much you can do on a case without any evidence.'  

Q flipped through the report and then looked up at Lestrade.  

'Thank you,' Q began but paused as the pain from his headache the day before returned. It shot through the left side of his head and settled on the right, causing him to stumble slightly. He cringed and pressed his fingers into his temples as hard as he could. 

 'Sherlock, are you all right?' Lestrade asked, grabbing Q’s arm and pulling him into the visitor's chair.  

'No--' Q managed to get out before passing out. 


	4. A&E

'Sherlock! Sherlock! Can you hear me?' the familiar voice demanded. John, of course, it was John.

Sherlock tried to open his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. What had he been doing and where was he now? He could feel himself struggling for breath, the feeling disorienting and not entirely uncommon. He looked up and caught a glimpse of John’s face just before he lost all consciousness.

\---- 

Q tried to steady himself. He reached out and clung to Lestrade, his breathing rapid and shallow.

'Bond,' he managed to get out before everything went dark.

\----

_'Q,' the deep voice whispered in Sherlock’s ear. It was unfamiliar. Who was that close to him? And who was Q. He had never been referred to as that before. He tried to move but found himself paralyzed._

_Strong arms wrapped around his upper body, pinning his arms to his sides and warm breath tickled the back of his neck._

_'When I get back from my mission, we’ll go out and have a nice dinner,' the voice continued._

_Sherlock couldn’t answer. What was going on?_

\----

_Q took in his clothes, a royal blue silk dressing gown, a grey t-shirt and grey striped pajama bottoms. He froze. These were definitely not his clothes._

_He was lying down on a brown leather sofa and he let his eyes wander the room he was in. The wallpaper was black and white with an almost floral design and there were some other odd decorations, such as a deer skull wearing headphones. Who in their right mind thought that this was an acceptable form of decorations? He probably shouldn't be one to talk, but it was more clutter from tech equipment in his flat._

_He tried to move, but his body remained stiff._

_'Sherlock Holmes, if you have replaced the milk again so help me, I will bin every last experiment you are currently working on!' An unfamiliar voice yelled. The voice was accompanied by footsteps. Someone was coming._

\--- 

The light was blinding. Sherlock tried to open his eyes but immediately shut them again. He tried to move but could feel the IV lines infesting his arms. He moaned and blinked his eyes open. His neck was stiff, but he tried to move it anyway.

'Sherlock? Sherlock,' a familiar voice said, the sound muffled, but the tone of slight concern. 

Sherlock turned his head toward the voice to see John rushing to his side. He smiled weakly. 'John,' he breathed. 

'Sherlock. Thank God,' John said, a rush of relief bleeding through his voice. He ran a hand through Sherlock’s hair and rested his face against Sherlock's arm.

'John,' he breathed out again.

John looked up and smiled at Sherlock. 'I thought we’d lost you...again. Since you seem to have a habit of that,' he said, a bit of nervous laughter tainting his voice.

Sherlock smiled back weakly. John licked his lips and then gently placed a kiss to Sherlock’s forehead. He pulled away and smiled.

'John,' Sherlock began. 'That was a horrible joke.'

'Yes, I know,' his smiled continued to grow and he began to relax a bit.

Sherlock tried to adjust himself and groaned at the sharp pain that presented itself in his arm when he tried to move. John retreated back to the chairs that sat next to the small bedside table. He looked like he hadn’t slept, Sherlock noted. How long had he been there?

He closed his eyes for a moment but opened them almost immediately as footsteps approached his side. He eyed the woman suspiciously, but a brief glance at John kept him from saying anything. She smiled.

'Well, Mister Holmes. Good to see you awake. I’m Doctor Jones. How are you feeling?'

Sherlock scoffed. 'Fine. Why am I at the hospital?' 

'You were brought in with severe head trauma.' She picked up his chart at the end of his bed and looked at it.

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed to the dark haired doctor in front of him. 'No. I haven’t had any head trauma.'

'Sherlock,' John started. 'You were clutching your head. I had to fight you to move your hand to take a look. You couldn’t speak. You don’t remember any of this?'

Sherlock moved his gaze from Doctor Jones to John. 'No.'

John pressed his lips together and took a deep breath. 'Ok. What’s the last thing you remember?'

'We were at home discussing the dinner we’d just had with Miss Evans,' he said, looking between John and Doctor Jones.

'You don’t remember anything else?' 

'There wasn’t anything after that.'

Doctor Jones looked at John and nodded. She replaced Sherlock’s chart and left the room. Sherlock watched her go and then returned his attention to John.

'How much time am I missing?'

John pressed his lips together. 'Nearly two days.'

\---- 

Q rubbed a hand over his face and quickly became extremely aware of the unfamiliar sheets covering him and the different lights. This wasn’t home. This wasn’t even Medical at MI6. Where in the hell was he?

He opened his eyes and quickly surveyed the room as himself. No one was around, but it appeared that his arm was in a sling.  What had happened? He tried to put the pieces back together.

'You dislocated your shoulder when the detective chief inspector tried to help you from falling,' a blonde woman said approaching Q’s bed. She leaned slightly on the edge and picked up the chart at the end of the bed.

'I think I’m fine,' he ran a quick diagnostic check on himself. 'I can’t seem to find anything wrong.' 

She smiled. 'No headaches? No nausea?'

'No.'

'All right then. I’ll be back to check on you later. Your friends will be in shortly. They just ran off for coffee this morning.'

Friends? Q nodded and attempted to adjust his position in the bed. The doctor smiled and replaced the chart before exiting the room.

He stared at the blank side wall for a bit before he heard footsteps approach the room. He turned his head at the sound and caught sight of Bond walking with Lestrade both dressed in suits and carrying coffee. He smiled.

'Now what was that about not worrying?' Bond said, amusement pulling at the edges of his words.

'I did not have any issues when I was talking with the younger Mister Kripe,' Q said, smiling at Bond. 'I’m not even sure what happened.'

Lestrade took a sip of his coffee. 'Well, you went from completely normal to nearly on the ground passed out in about five seconds. I grabbed hold of you and managed to get you into the chair. Been worried about you.'

Q stared at him. He searched his head for what happened but found nothing. Bond took a sip of his coffee and his eyes met Q’s. 

'You don’t remember, do you?'

Q pressed his lips together. 'No,' he said, looking over to Lestrade. 'I remember talking with Lestrade and that’s about it. Nothing about falling, but isn’t that normal when it comes to head trauma of some kind. Short term memory loss?'

Bond chuckled lightly. 'You would rationalize. They’re going to keep you overnight since you were unconscious for about a day and a half. You should be all set to go home after.'

Q blinked and then nodded, a neutral mask coming into place. Bond came closer to the bed and ran his hand up Q’s arm.

'I don’t think it’s anything serious,' Bond smiled.

Lestrade looked between the two of them and then shook his head. 'I’m gonna go if that’s ok with you two. No reason for me to stay here. I’ll have the file sent over to you for further scrutiny.'

A smile pulled at Q’s lips and he looked away from Bond to Lestrade.

'Thank you,' Q said. 'I’ll return it once I’m through.'

Lestrade chuckled. 'I’ll believe that when I see it. The great Sherlock Holmes returning case files. Never,' he turned and headed toward the door, disappearing within moments. 'Night.'

Bond watched Lestrade leave and then returned his attention to Q. 'You not return case files? Mister 'please make sure you do your after action report'?'  

'It was a different time,' Q said, his voice neutral, but dripping with the smug tone of his first encounter with Bond.

Bond smiled slightly. 'Get some rest. We’ll be busy with this case of yours when you’re released.'

'Ok,' Q responded, letting his head fall back against the pillows.

\----

Sherlock tapped his fingers against the railing on the bed and sighed. 'How much longer do I have to stay here? I’m fine.'

'No you’re not,' John retorted not looking up from his newspaper. He had seated himself in the visitor's chair across the room and he was still wearing last night's clothing, which meant that John hadn’t left to go home. Not surprising. He would’ve gone home to an empty flat or back to get the last of his stuff from Mary. Of course, this seemed like a better option.

Sherlock huffed. 'Yes, I am. Now get me out of this bed!'

'Ah, no. You’re going to stay there until the doctor figures out what’s wrong.' 

'Look! I’ve figured it out for her! Nothing! Now can we please go!'

John shook his head and walked into the hallway, returning moments later with Doctor Jones. He waved her toward the bed and she looked at him uncertainly.

'Go on, Sherlock. Make your request.'

'What is there to request? I’m fine. I would like to leave now.'

'Mister Holmes, if you insist on leaving now, we cannot be responsible for any additional injuries you sustain.'

'Fine. Where are papers I need to sign to get out of this bloody bed? I know this game.' 

'Mister Holmes, you will need to wait a few moments until I can get all of the paperwork in order. It’ll take about an hour.' 

Sherlock rolled his eyes. 'Fine.'

Doctor Jones turned on her heel and exited the room quicker than she entered.

'Why do you insist on being difficult?' John said, moving from his place against the wall.

'I’m not being difficult! I am fine and we have things to do. We need to talk with the assistant again. She knows something she’s not telling us,' he said as he began to pull the tape that held the IV in place free from his skin.

'Give me that,' John said, grabbing hold of Sherlock’s arm and removing the IV from his arm. 'If you’re not going to wait, at least let an actual doctor do it.'

'And once you’re done, I need you to make a phone call.'

'To who?' 

'The assistant, John! Keep up! I’m supposed to be the one with head trauma.'

John huffed and pulled another piece of tape free harder than before. Sherlock yelped in pain.

'Sorry,' John said. 'I’ll call Miss Evans and you sign the paperwork once Doctor Jones arrives.'

'Fine,' Sherlock said.

\----

'I’m sorry,' the blonde doctor said. 'We’re seeing a problem in your head. We can’t release you. We’re going to need to run another test to make sure it isn’t something serious.'

Q sighed and looked away from her, his eyes meeting Bond’s. Bond gave him a sympathetic look and Q threw his head back into the pillow with a sigh.

'Q,' Bond began. 'I’m sorry.'

Q didn’t say anything. He stared out at the white wall in front of him. The doctor was gone from the room and Q was beginning to feel trapped. It would have been one thing if he was trapped in Medical, but this was difficult.

He turned back to Bond. 'Can you retrieve the notebook in my bag? The least we can do is to figure out who we need to talk with next. Find the next loose thread.'

'Sure,' Bond smiled as he crossed the room and pulled out Q’s notebook. He returned and sat in the chair. 'So, shall we review the facts?'

'Yes.'

'You wrote, ‘Bad relationship with family. Wife deceased. Affair with secretary. Secretary now CEO.’ Now, I’m not a genius like you Q, but I’d say we need to talk to the former secretary,' Bond said, looking up from the notebook.

Q smiled. 'I think that sounds about right, Mister Bond. But, since I’m confined to this bed, I think you’re going to have to be the one to do it.'

'Are you sure--'

'This can’t wait. It’s only a matter of time before Mycroft takes this case back and they’re pursuing you as the suspect. I can’t let that happen.'

'Ok. So, I’ll call and make an appointment with...Miss Evans.'

'And I’ll be here waiting for you to return with the information.'

Bond stood and rolled his eyes. He walked to the edge of the bed and then softly kissed Q. 'Don’t die on me while I’m off solving your case, all right?'

'I’ll do my best,' Q responded, doing his best to nudge Bond out the door. Bond took the hint and left, leaving Q alone in his room with nothing but the noises from the hallway, and his thoughts.


	5. Threats

Q laid against the cool white sheets of the bed, the pages of the book he was reading feeling smooth between his fingers. He had been waiting here longer than he would have liked and the book was beginning to bore him. He closed it and placed it on the table next to his bed, struggling slightly due to his arm. 

Where was Bond? He stared at the ceiling but looked toward the door as footsteps approached. 

'Ah,' Q said, his voice tinged with a bit of sadness. 'Sorry, I thought you were someone else.' 

'It’s all right,' said the red-haired nurse who adjusted the bags of fluid hanging from his IV pole. 'Are you feeling ok?' 

'Yes,' he replied. 'Bit bored.' He paused, determining if he wanted to speak more. He didn’t. 

'Anything I can do to help?' she asked cheerfully. 

'No, I think I’ll be fine.' 

He stared over her shoulder, ignoring her movements as she checked his monitors and IVs. A blond man approached and Q felt a small smile spread across his face. 

'Finally!'

'Oh, I’m sorry. We’re you waiting on something?' Bond said, walking up to the side of the bed. 

Q rolled his eyes. 'So, what did you find?' 

'The current CEO was having an affair with the former CEO. She wasn’t exactly forthcoming with information.' 

'I didn’t think she would be.' 

'I did manage to get the former CEO’s schedule.' 

'You got it off his computer didn’t you?' 

'Yes.'

'Do I want to know how exactly you got it off the computer?' 

'Probably not.' 

'Consider the question never asked and forgotten entirely.' 

Q looked over Bond and mentally catalogued him from any problems. Nothing looked wrong, which meant Bond didn’t fight anyone armed to get the information. He most likely acquired it in a more intimate way. At least Q could put this down in his book as a successful mission, if not one that he didn’t want to know all of the details about. 

'Well,' the doctor said filling in the pause that had settled in the room. 'I have good news. Everything looks good and you can be discharged today.' 

'Thank you,' Q responded. 

'I’ll bring you the paperwork in a bit,' she said with a smile. 

Q looked to Bond, a sense of victory and mischief sparkling in his eyes. 

\----

The building that served as the headquarters for Severine Electronics was large and mainly made of glass. The security was almost non-existent for a company that held government contracts, Sherlock noted. He observed only a few security guards at the front doors. He rolled his eyes. No wonder the former CEO ended up dead. 

He walked through the doors as if he belonged and John followed, his hand clenching slightly. 

'Do you even have a plan?' John asked. His pace occasionally falling behind Sherlock’s. 

No response came. John filled in the silence. 'Why did I even ask? I could’ve guessed that there was no plan.

They reached the lift and the doors opened almost immediately as Sherlock tapped the button. He rang the eighth floor and the two rode in silence until they reached their destination. 

'I do have a plan,' Sherlock responded, walking toward a set of glass doors just off to the left of the lift.  

'Care to share?' 

'It’s simple. Walk into the office and talk with Miss Evans. I find the direct method to be the best course of action.' 

John shook his head and followed as Sherlock pushed through the door of the main office, ignoring the calls of the desk assistant they passed. He closed the door behind him once they had entered the main office. 

'Margaret, I thought I said no...visitors…' Sylvia’s voice trailed off as she looked up from the papers she was reading. 'Nevermind.'

'Miss Evans,' Sherlock said, approaching the desk his hands shoved in his pocket and his collar turned up. 

'Mister Holmes. How can I help you, sir? I thought we were finished after our dinner.' 

'Unfortunately, Miss Evans, we weren’t.' 

She stared up at him, her eyes narrowing, challenging him in a way they had not during their previous encounter. She tapped her fingers on the table. 'I believe we were.' 

'The problem with that assumption is that it is flawed in a significant number of ways. I find it very difficult to believe that Mister Gripe’s assistant was not doing what she was hired to do.' 

'Mister Holmes--' 

'I do not believe you, Miss Evans. You are hiding the records of Mister Kripe’s meetings because you are trying to protect him due to sentiment,' the words fell from his mouth with disdain. 'What is so important that you are risking your life to protect?' 

‘Mister Holmes. I do not know what you’re talking about. I told you. Gerald didn’t let me keep his calendar.' She tapped her fingers on the table again, before pulling her hands to her chest.

'I find it very strange that you insist upon keeping up this ruse.' 

'Sherlock,' John interjected quietly. 'Maybe she is telling the truth.' 

Sherlock huffed. 'No John. I can tell by the way she’s been tapping her fingers that she is not. She’s been doing it since we arrived. She made the same movement at dinner whenever she lied. She knew she didn’t tell us everything and it is illogical that a CEO of a company would entrust his secretary to nothing but basic filing. He was an old-fashioned type of CEO. His secretary would have gone to the meetings and taken notes. She would know his schedule like it was her own. How could a secretary who knew nothing about the business take over as the new CEO?' 

John stared at him in silence and changed his eye line from Sherlock to Sylvia. Her eyes met his and she reached for the phone on her desk. 

'I’m calling security,' she said, her voice neutral and calm. 

'I don’t think you will Miss Evans,' Sherlock said, whirling around to face her again. 'If you do, it will only give me cause to go to the police and get them involved with the case again.'  

'They’ve already closed this case.' 

'But, they would reopen it if I insisted and you wouldn’t want that,' Sherlock interrupted.  

They stared at each other, neither breaking the other’s gaze. Sylvia removed her hand from the phone. 'No, Mister Holmes, we would not want that. But, what exactly do you want Mister Holmes?' 

Sherlock smirked and approached the desk. He tapped his fingers on it before turning and continuing with his deliberate pacing around the office. 'You know exactly why we’re here and this will go much faster if you just hand over the information instead of playing these games with me.' 

Sylvia stared at him, her face neutral. She said nothing as Sherlock continued to pace the room, occasionally stopping to take a closer look at the trinkets that sat on her bookshelf. He looked over to John briefly, who shrugged but said nothing. 

'Are you just expecting me to come forth with everything I know? Explain the inner workings of things like some evil villain in some American action film? This isn’t a movie, Mister Holmes.'  

His finger stopped and hovered just above the spine of a navy leather bound book with silver letting. He smiled, but returned to his uninterested look and looked over his shoulder at her. 

'No, Miss Evans. I actually suspect that what I’m looking for is in this room and you won’t have to say a word about what you know.' 

'And how do you know that what you’re looking for is in this room?' 

'The dust on your bookshelf. Dust is eloquent. There are very distinct lines around many of the books, which indicates that not only have you not had anyone in to clean the office thoroughly and that these books must have belonged to Mister Kripe. The newer dusty line around these leather bound ledgers indicates that they were placed on the shelf much more recently. I’d say about three months ago. They are the type of ledgers that old fashioned secretaries used to keep notes in, so I assume they are records of all of Mister Kripe’s appointments and notes from meetings. You managed to keep them from the evidence I see. Well done.' 

She diverted her eyes and a smile pulled at the corners of Sherlock’s mouth. 

'We will be taking these logs for further investigation. A pleasure to see you again Miss Evans,' Sherlock said, pulling the three ledgers from the shelf and carrying them out of the room. 

\----

Papers were scattered about the small office, covering almost every surface possible. While the file from Lestrade had been rather thin, Q had managed to pad out the paper mess with print outs from Mycroft’s flash drive as well as his additional online research. He sat on the floor amongst the papers, his legs tucked up underneath him and his hair a mess. 

Bond stood in the doorway, leaning against the dark wood frame. 'Are you going to sit there all night or are you going to come to bed at some point?' He folded his arms across his chest, a small smile resting on his face. 

Q stopped moving and looked up at Bond. 'I wasn’t planning on it. I do tend to get more work done in my pyjamas.' 

'That may be true, but that also means that you miss out on one of your favourite activities. 

'And that would be?' 

'You know very well what that would be.' 

'Bond,' Q began. 'I hardly think snuggling up with a double 0 could be considered a favourite activity.' 

Bond rolled his eyes. 'No matter. You’re just home from hospital. Don’t be an idiot.' 

Q turned away. 'You’re one to talk.' 

'You know what I mean, Q.' 

Q did not respond and returned his attention to the papers surrounding his feet. He picked up another one to add to the stack already accumulating in his hands and quickly scanned it over. He could hear Bond trying to get his attention once again, but he could not tear his eyes away from the paper. 

He froze, reading the lines over and over again before quickly moving toward his laptop, which had taken up residence on his desk. He typed the name 'Knight' in his computer search and set the parameters to search the folder containing the information Bond had obtained. It took a few minutes, and when the search finished close to two hundred files bearing that name were found. He opened his web browser and typed the name ‘Matthew Knight’ into the Google search bar. He smiled. 

'I know that smile,' Bond said. 

'No you don’t,' Q responded. 

'It’s the same smile you have when you hack the Chinese or when a mission goes exceedingly well and an agent’s going to return your equipment.' 

Q ignored him and scrolled through the found files. 

'Got it,' Q said after a few minutes of weeding out unimportant information. His mission tone appeared.  

Bond moved away from the door and came to stand over Q at the computer.

'What have you got?' His voice low and focused in Q’s ear. 

'Kripe had two meetings every week. Never canceled them. Very routine,' he said. 

'Sounds about normal for any CEO of a large company.' 

'Usually, it would be. Meetings with investors or new vendors would be very common. These two, however, aren’t. They are with a Mister Matthew Knight, the same Matthew Knight who found Kripe dead. Look here in the police notes, Knight’s been brought in for several petty crimes and once back in 1997 for fraud.' 

'But, if Kripe were having meetings with Knight, I wouldn’t expect Knight to be the murderer.' 

'He’s not. His alibi was clean. What’s odd is that there is a second meeting listed after the one with Knight, but there’s no information listed.' 

'Could be a personal meeting?' 

'Why wouldn’t it have a name on it then? His dentist's appointment has a name. This is what we’ve been looking for. We just need to track down Matthew Knight to see what he knows.' 

‘You can’t be certain that Knight knows anything though.’ 

‘He knows enough. He found Kripe’s body and he had frequent meetings with him. He’s definitely worth speaking with.’ 

'When did this project become a case for both of us?' Bond asked. He straightened from where he was hunching over Q and walked around the desk. 

'When you continued to duck M.’s calls and acquired this information from Miss Evans, which I don’t want to know how you managed,' Q responded. 

Bond smirked, but the smile quickly fell from his face. Q’s eyes narrowed and they both looked toward the door and the creak in the floorboards coming from the hallway. Bond’s hand immediately flew to his Walther, now held in an ankle holster. He waved Q behind him and moved toward the doorway. 

'No one could have got passed the security system,' Q whispered.

'Something obviously has though,' Bond responded. 

He looked out into the hallway and then turned back to Q briefly. 'We’re clear. Move.' 

They proceeded slowly into the hallway as light on their feet as they could. Backs pressed against the wall of the corridor, they approached the living room. Bond looked around quickly, waving Q forward once he had determined that the room was clear. They approached the sofa and coffee table. Bond lowered the Walther slightly. A note lay on the coffee table. 

Q moved quickly and picked it up. 

'What’s it say?' Bond asked, moving beyond the living room to the kitchen still checking for an intruder. 

'The path you’re walking is a dangerous one. Stop before it’s too late,' Q read. 'Sounds like something from a cliche horror film. 

The paper was plain and generic and the writing on it was typed. Why leave such an overused threat? 

'I wouldn’t underestimate it just yet. Someone clearly went out of their way to get in here and leave it. We should check the surveillance,' Bond said. 

Q nodded and headed back toward the office. He turned the corner to the room and heard the sound of a pistol cock and within seconds fire. 

His breath caught in his throat, but his reactions were nearly second nature. Q dropped to his knees and covered his head. He moved backward out of the doorway and flung his back to the wall. Bond was by his side within seconds, his hand on Q’s knee reassuring him that he was still there. Q nodded and Bond disappeared into the room. 

'007,' Q whispered. 

'Clear, Q,' Bond responded. 'Are you ok?' 

'I’m fine.' 

'Window’s open. Whoever fired clearly aimed as a warning. They were trying to miss.' 

'Lovely. Just what I wanted. A stalker with dangerous weapons who purposefully plans to not kill me, just send a very powerful reminder that I can be if they so desired.' 

Bond reappeared and knelt next to Q. Q looked up at him, his breathing slowing to normal and bit his bottom lip.

'Q?' Bond said. 

'What Bond? I believe we have things to do that do not involve you staring at me like I have six heads.' 

'Q, you’re bleeding.'

\----

The door knocker had been tilted slightly to the left, the entirely opposite direction from its normal position, Sherlock observed. He stood staring at the door, not moving to open it. 

'Someone’s here,' he said. 'And it’s not my brother, oddly enough.' 

John glanced at him over his shoulder before returning his attention to the cabbie. He paid the man and then turned to stand next to Sherlock. They stood in silence for a few moments, John looking between the door knock and Sherlock. Sherlock stared, almost glossy-eyed at the door.

'So what do you plan on doing?' John asked. 

Sherlock inhaled and steepled his fingers underneath his chin. 'I think we should go and pay our guest a visit.' 

'And you’re sure it’s not your brother?'

'No. Definitely not. He straightens the knocker, he doesn’t turn it the other way. I’m not exactly sure who this could be. 

Sherlock took a step forward and reached for the knob. He pushed the door open slowly, taking in the foyer that lay beyond the door. Nothing was out of place. No scratches on the walls as the CIA had left years ago. No, nothing was disturbed. 

'Check on Mrs. Hudson and then come upstairs,' Sherlock said, his voice low. 

John nodded curtly and turned for Mrs. Hudson’s door, while Sherlock began his ascent up the stairs. His feet pressed lightly on each stair and he entered into 221B. 

The room looked as it always did. Sherlock’s eyes narrowed and he slowly turned around the flat, observing. 

'My brother has made an unexpected visit,' Sherlock said. He turned to watch John climb the last few stairs. 

'How do you know? I thought you said it couldn’t be your brother,' John responded. 

'Nothing is out of place, but the chair has been sat in and there’s a note on his letterhead placed on the side table next to your chair. The man has no regard for personal space.'

He sighed and picked up the paper on the table. His eyes narrowed and he pressed his lips together. 

'Sherlock,' John began. 'What’s wrong? I know that face and it only ever makes an appearance when something is wrong.' 

'There’s nothing written in the note. It’s blank.' 

'Perhaps he forgot to write it?' 

'He would never be so careless, John,' he froze. 'We need to go through these logs as quickly as we can. This break in isn’t my brother’s doing. 

Sherlock hurried into the kitchen. He cleared a space on the table, moving a few beakers to other counters nearby and then placed the ledger on the table, readying it for dissection. John stared at Sherlock and ran his tongue over his lips, his breathing becoming deeper. He stood entirely still in the doorway to the kitchen. 

'John,' Sherlock said, continuing to clear the table of other experiments. 'I suggest we hurry. Who knows how much time we may have?' 

Sherlock opened the ledger and began flipping through pages. John sat opposite him at the table, looking at the second volume they had collected.  

'What exactly are we looking for?' 

'You know,' Sherlock replied, his attention remaining on the ledger in front of him. 

'No, Sherlock. I don’t. You have to give me some indication of what I should be looking for,' John said. 

Sherlock exhaled. 'We are looking for anything that looks unusual.' 

'That’s not exactly helpful, Sherlock.' 

Sherlock ignored him and flipped through the more pages before suddenly stopping, near frozen. He looked up at John. 

'What?' John asked. 

'I found it,' Sherlock said. 'It seems completely innocuous at first glance. A simple weekly meeting with a government official to discuss the current contract with Severine.' 

'But?' 

'The contact.' 

'You’re going to have to be clearer than that. I am not a mind reader Sherlock.' 

'We know this contact, John. Lord Charleston, in the House of Lords. Why would Kripe be having lunch every week with someone in Parliament and not take his secretary with him when he does to all of the others?' 

'I don’t know.' 

'Precisely. That is--' 

The pull of the trigger was fast and nearly silent.    

Sherlock threw John to the ground and dove next to him, covering both of their heads with his hands. He listened as the bullet made contact with the refrigerator door. 

'John, are you okay?' Sherlock asked, pushing up onto his side and reaching out toward him. 

John tensed for a brief moment and slid himself to sit upright against the lower cabinets. 'I’m fine,' John said. 'But you’re not.' 

He reached out and touched Sherlock’s shoulder. 'You’re not at all,' John said. He pulled Sherlock into his lap and pressed both hands over the wound. 'We’re going to need to stitch you back up.' 

Sherlock stared at John, his eyes moving seamlessly between focus and unfocused. 'I’m fine,' Sherlock said as he fell against John, unconscious.


	6. Insanity

The headache was worse than it had been. Sherlock groaned and tried to press a hand to his temple, only to be met with stinging pain. He left his hand sitting immobile on his leg. He opened his eyes and his senses were overwhelmed with the sight of a white room and the unsettling beeps of a heart monitor harmonizing with light snoring. 

He licked his lips and steadied his breathing. 'James,' he whispered. 'James.'

The snoring vanished with a snort. 'Sherlock?' John said. 'Sherlock, what’s wrong?'  He leaned forward, rubbing his hands over his face, and eventually setting himself leaning on the edge of the hospital bed.

Sherlock paused for a second and stared before continuing. 'Yes...Watson. Why am in the hospital?'

'You’re joking, right?' 

Sherlock’s face twisted into further confusion. 

'Sherlock,' John began. 'You were shot.' 

'How do you...' he started before John’s words registered. 'I was?' 

'Yes.' 

Sherlock leaned back into the bed and took a deep breath, the sound of John’s voice beginning to agitate him. How did Watson, Agent 009, know his real name?

John pressed his lips together. 'It’s not bad. Scraped the outer edge of your shoulder. They’ve stitched it up. You’ll be fine.' 

'Good. Very good,' Sherlock responded. He leaned back into the pillow and took a deep breath. 

'Sherlock-' John said before he was interrupted.

'Watson, I need you to find Matthew Knight and find out what he knows. Bring the information back and we should have the answer that we’re looking for to solve this case. ' 

John’s brow furrowed. 'You mean Lord Charleton?’

‘What? Oh. Yes.’ 

‘Are you feeling ok?' 

'Yes, I’m feeling fine considering I was just shot. I suspect that I won’t be here for too long, but this case can’t wait. You are perfectly capable of this task Watson.' Sherlock smiled and took another deep breath. His eyes fell closed for a brief moment as he lost himself in the sounds of the hospital machines. He pulled himself back and turned to face John. 

John licked his lips. 'Whatever you say, Sherlock. Whatever you say. I’m not going to argue with you sending me out while you stay here to rest, but something is not quite right with you. It’s fine if you don’t want to tell me, but if there’s something I can do to help just let me know. That’s how relationships work, afterall.'

Sherlock squinted at John and managed an awkward smile. 'I’m fine. Now off you go,' he said, weakly waving John from the room.

'Ok,' John responded. He grabbed his coat from the back of the chair and stood. He gave one more look to Sherlock before turning in his typical military fashion and exiting. 

\----

Q rolled his eyes as the doctor tied the thread off for the last of the stitches. 'Are you finished now? Am I free to leave?' 

He looked over at Bond leaning against the doorway. 'I’m afraid I’m becoming a bad influence on you,' Bond chuckled.

Q looked to Bond, his brows knitting together in confusion. He then turned his attention back to the doctor who discarded the used needle.

'I’m fine. Let’s go,' he said, sliding off of the table and walking past Bond. 

Bond followed with his eyes as Q walked past him. He sighed and then followed behind. 

'Are you okay?' Bond asked.

'Yes. I’m fine. Though I’m confused as to why you’re following me. Few stitches. I’ve got a case,' Q said, walking as briskly as he could.  He slid his hands around the collar of his cardigan and flicked the collar of his shirt. 

'I know,’ Bond replied, keeping up with Q. ‘We have a near invisible man to track down.'

Q stopped. ‘You know?’ He turned and faced Bond. ‘How do you know?’

‘Because it involves me. Are you sure you’re okay, Q?’

‘Yes,’ he said, trying to hide the confusion in his voice. 

They began walking again and quickly rounded the corner, finally exiting the long, sterile hallway that led to Medical in MI6 and continued on to the garage. 

'Where did you park?' Q asked, continuing his forward pace though he was uncertain as to where he needed to go.

'On the left,' Bond responded. 

He pulled the keys from his pocket and pressed the button. The Aston Martin’s lights blinked and Q smiled, increasing his pace toward the car and forcing Bond to break into a light jog to keep up. They each opened their doors and got in, a smile beginning to cross Bond’s face.

'In a hurry,' Bond said. 

'We’ve established that. Yes,' Q said with a sigh. He kept his gaze forward. 'Can we please cease with the stupid questions part of the evening and get on to the part where we have a chat with Lord Charleton?' 

Bond looked to Q, his face neutral, a look that Bond had not used toward Q since their first meeting. 

'You mean Matthew Knight, yes?'

‘Oh yes, right. Matthew Knight.’

‘Just checking,’ Bond said. He put the car in gear and pulled out of the parking garage. Silence filling the car. 

Q stared out the windscreen and then reached into his cardigan pocket and withdrew his mobile. He uncomfortably looked over to Bond, whose expression remained neutral and then back to his mobile. He began to type the code to unlock it when a pain began behind his eyes. 

It burned more than the previous headaches and Q could feel the pounding in his head as he pressed his fingers into his temples. He tried to contain himself, but with very little warning he let out a groan. He could feel his breathing increasing slightly as he attempted to deal with the headache.

Bond glanced at Q from the corner of his eye and made a left onto Tyer Terrace. He quickly found a parking spot and pulled the car in quickly. 

'Q?' Bond said. He placed his hand on Q’s hand and ran his thumb in small circles over his knuckles. 'Breathe. Breathe.' 

Q squeezed his eyes shut as tight as he possibly could and braced his hands on the dashboard of the car. Small groans escaped his mouth and his breathing became shallow. 

'Q. Q, listen to me. Focus,' Bond repeated over and over, a steady mantra that quickly became background to Q. He opened his eyes briefly, but he saw nothing but white. He shut them again and stiffened in Bond’s arms. 

'I can’t see,' Q said.  

He pried his hands away from the dashboard of the car, causing Bond’s hand to retreat to the steering wheel of the car, and pressed them into the bottom of his eye sockets. The pain began to ease and slowly he brought his breathing under control. He sat up straight and ran one hand through his hair and the other over his face, bringing it to rest over his mouth. 

'Q,' Bond said. He moved his hand to Q’s shoulder. 

Q froze. He turned and looked between Bond and Bond’s hand on his shoulder, his eyes examining the situation as completely as he could. He tried to parse out all of the details as to why Bond’s hand was resting on his shoulder, but he failed. 

'Agent 007, might I inquire as to why you’re hand is on my shoulder?' Q asked.

'I was worried about you,' Bond said. 

Q nodded. 'Agent there is no need to worry about me. Please remove your hand and let’s continue this mission. The sooner we locate Matthew Knight, the sooner we can both return to our normal lives. I’m sure your latest conquest will be glad to have you back.' 

Bond hesitated and then pulled his hand back, returning it to its place on the steering wheel. He pressed his lips together. 

'Q,' Bond began. 'What do you know about this mission?'

'From Mycroft. Not high priority, but necessary for me to maintain my relationship with John. We’re trying to locate Matthew Knight,' Q responded. 

'Q.' 

'What 007? Do you have any more useless questions for me to answer or can we continue with the task at hand?' 

'Of course, Q,' Bond responded. He turned on the car, put it into drive and pulled away from the kerb.


	7. A Set-Up

Q sighed. The general conversation that Knight was making with Bond was becoming tedious.

'Mister Knight,' Q said pointedly, interrupting the pleasantries. 'I’m sure you and Mister Kripe were very good friends and we are very sorry that he’s gone, but can you please tell us more about the meetings you were having.' 

Knight paused and pressed his lips together. He nodded. 'Of course. Gerald and I went to university together. He stayed in touch even through all of the things I went through. He was a good friend. It was sad to hear that he passed.' 

Q rolled his eyes. 'And he met you every Wednesday to discuss how you were doing?' 

'Ah. Right. Yes. Of course. We met to discuss my progress. He was in charge of keeping me on the straight and narrow as the case would be. He--' 

'And he didn’t bring along his secretary because it was a private meeting between the two of you. No need for any note taking.' 

'Umm...ahh..' Knight stuttered. 

'Of course, that’s not the only thing you discussed now was it, Mister Knight?' Q leaned forward in his chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He smirked. 'No, of course not. You were also a cover up.' 

'Q,' Bond said, a hint of warning entering his voice. 

Q looked to Bond and shot him a warning 

'Excuse me?' Knight snapped. 

'Please. Stop acting like an idiot. You weren’t just there to talk with him about how well you were doing, you were there to cover up for him. To provide him with a reason as to why he has an unnamed meeting on his calendar, which means it must be someone important. No other reason to disguise a meeting like that. I must’ve missed something,' Q said. 

He stared at the confused man in front of his, squinting and then he closed his eyes. He wandered down the spiral staircase of his family home, dusting off the cobwebs that had taken residence. 

When he arrived at the bottom floor, he quickly ran toward the second door on the left, a big oak door that led into the study. He glanced around quickly at all of the books and headed toward the file cabinet. He opened it and pulled out the file on Gerald Kripe and examined it. There must have been something he was missing, something that would give him the answer he needed without having to continue to talk with the idiot that was Matthew Knight, but the search turned up nothing. 

Q opened his eyes and stared at Knight. 'I don’t know what you’re covering up for him, but it must be something significant for you to adamantly deny that you know anything of the matter.' Q pressed his hands together, pressing them close to his lips. His eyes scanned Knight again. 

'Q,' Bond said. 

'Not now 007. I’m--' 

The pain surged to the front of his forehead, forcing Q to shut his eyes. He dropped to his knees, not making a sound. Bond rushed to his side, while Knight retreated back into his chair. 

He breathed deeply and within moments, the pain subsided once again. His breathing slowed and he came to recognize the feeling of Bond’s hand upon his back. He looked up, Bond’s face a blur of shapes and colours. 

'James…' he whispered. 

'Q. Q listen to me. You’re going to be ok.' 

Q blinked for a moment before his eyes focused. 'Yes. I am,' he said. 

He pushed himself to his feet and look across the room to Knight, still curled up in his chair.

'Mister Knight. May I ask you one question?' 

Knight eyed him warily.

Q smirked. 'What do you know about Lord Moran?' 

\----

Sherlock stared at the ceiling, the beeping sounds of the monitors a mix of irritating and calm. He closed his eyes and let his mind wander down the staircase, the brass railing a reassuring structure that grounded him. 

Once safely inside his mind palace, Sherlock opened the first door on the left and entered. The room was large with cream walls and burgundy curtains over the one window in the room. An oak desk with a large rolling chair sat in the center of the room surrounded by bookcases on the walls, a room reminiscent of his mother’s study at their family home. 

He approached the desk and sat, observing all of the books and cabinets stored in the space. He took a breath and looked down at the manila folder so carefully placed on the desk and smiled. Perhaps he could do some work while Watson was out gathering information. 

The footsteps interrupted and Sherlock returned from his mind palace nearly instantaneously. He frowned and stared out at the intruder, who now stood at the side of his bed carrying a large plain envelope. 

'I don’t think you’re going to like what’s inside this folder,' John said. 

'Watson. What did you find out?' 

John tapped the folder against his the side of the bed. He took a deep breath. 'You’re not going to like this.' 

'Just tell me already, Watson!'

'Kripe wasn’t just meeting Lord Charleston. He was also meeting Lord Moran.' 

'Of course! That’s why the meetings stop after November 5th of last year. They were meeting about the contract Kripe had just signed. Yes! That’s it! Kripe needed to be taken care of.'

Sherlock looked at John as pain immediately concentrated at the front of his head. He inhaled in pain but made no sound. 

'Sherlock,' John said, dropping the folder to the ground and reaching for Sherlock’s hand. 'Breathe, Sherlock. Nurse!' 

Sherlock groaned, trying to move his hand to his head, but the IV lines served as a restraint. 

'Watson...John…' Sherlock said, his voice fading in and out. The sounds from the monitors began to beep in irregular patterns as if they were monitoring two people. 

'Stay with me, Sherlock! Stay with me! Nurse!' John yelled. He ran his hand along Sherlock’s forehead. 

Sherlock took a deep breath and as quickly as the pain had arrived, it disappeared, leaving the room normal again.

'It’s a set-up, John,' Sherlock whispered. He reached over to IV line investing his other arm and began to slowly remove them. 

'What? Sherlock, what are you doing? No. No. Hang on. You are not moving from this bed,' John said, scrambling around to grab the lines Sherlock left lying on the bed. 'Sherlock, what do you think you’re doing?' 

'What does it look like John? We’re busy. We’ve got things to do. Mycroft can take care of this mess. Now, let’s go!'

\----

Q slammed the door to their London flat. He moved through the flat quick and effectively. 'I knew Mycroft had something to do with this. I should have realised it the moment he handed me the file.'  

Bond turned to look at him as he passed into their home office. 'Explain.' 

'It's simple really. Mycroft knew that I'd take this case because it involved you and clearing your name. Sentiment. But, there is no case.' 

'What?' Bond asked. He furrowed his brow. 

'There is no case, Bond. This was an MI6 sanctioned hit. You know this man. I know this man. Oh, how could I have been so stupid!' Q said. He looked around the office furiously. 'Now where did he have them.' 

'What do you mean MI6 sanctioned?' Bond said from the doorway, observing Q's pursuit of the room. 

Q didn't answer. He climbed up on a chair and began running his hands along the top of the books on the shelves before reaching further back and removing a tiny object. 

'He still can't leave me alone,' he muttered. He threw the small camera onto the table and quickly smashed it with a globe paperweight that had been living next to his computer for some time. 'Bond. This mission. The Kripe case. This was 009's hit. This was the hit that put him in the 00 program. It's not a mission I ran and one where I only briefly saw the paperwork, which is why I didn't catch it the first time out. Mycroft set me up.'

'But that's impossible. All 00 records are in the databases. You would've found them when you were doing research on the case before taking it.' 

Q ran his tongue over his lips and loomed over the desk and destroyed camera as he watched Bond puzzle out the facts. His muscles tensing with every discovery made by Bond. How could he have been so incredibly stupid to miss what Mycroft had done? 

'He would have needed to erase the mission that gave Watson his 00 status, which would void his ability to be on missions. M. would never allow him out. Unless he knew what Mycroft was up to,' he paused. 'You did say that this case was sanctioned by M. for you to take, I didn't hear that incorrectly?'

'You did indeed hear that correctly,' Q replied. 

'And that was a camera you smashed on the desk moments ago?' 

'Yes, placed there by my brother because he can't leave well enough alone.'

Bond took a deep breath and nodded. 'I would be inclined to agree that you were indeed set-up by Mycroft. But why?' 

'Now you're asking the right questions,' Q said, his mouth pulling up into a smirk. 'And there's only one place for questions like that to be answered.' 

Bond nodded and they raced to the front door, pulling on light coats to brace against the cool May evening air. They slammed the door shut behind them as they departed the flat and headed in the direction of MI5.

\----

Sherlock stumbled as he made his way down the sidewalk just outside of the Royal A&E. He tried to flag a cab, but they just passed him. By the time John had caught up with him, Sherlock had found a pack of cigarettes that had been stashed in one of the inner pockets of his coat and flicking a lighter. 

John approached him and threw his arm up into the air and a cab immediately stopped in front of him. He smiled, pleased with himself and gestured Sherlock into the cab. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, replaced the cigarette into the package and got in. 

'Where to?' the driver asked. He looked at two of them in the mirror, only meeting John's eyes. John signaled to him to wait a moment. 

'Where are we going? You know, just to clarify,' John asked.

'It's obvious John. To Mycroft!' Sherlock shouted. 

'Fine, fine. Yes,' John responded. He kept his voice as calm as he could. Then, he turned his attention to the cabbie. 'Yes, to MI5 headquarters, please. Quickly as you can.' He smiled and nodded. 

'Right away, sir,' the cabbie responded and he pulled the cab out into traffic. 

Sherlock turned his attention to the scenery passing by the window as the cab drove through London. It's not as if he hadn't seen it all before, but something seemed odd to him. He pressed his forehead to the glass of the window, letting the cool feeling saturate his skin. 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath and let his mind drift. When they arrived at MI5 headquarters, Sherlock would not have noticed if John had not touched his shoulder and brought him back to consciousness. He looked around the cab before exiting, his head foggy and the sign of a headache prominent. 

As they climbed the stairs of the building, Sherlock stopped suddenly, frozen for a brief moment before continuing on the course, John trailing just behind. 


	8. Convergence

'He’s never not in his office, Anthea. Believe when I say, I know my brother. He must be there.'  He folded his arms over his chest. Chasing Mycroft about this case made the entire case more irritating.

Anthea smiled up at Q, her expression playing at being cordial, but her eyes revealing her true annoyance. 'You’re welcome to wait for him in his office if you’d like, sir. But, I do not know when he will return.' 

'I think we will,' he said, giving her an enigmatic smile. He crossed in front of her desk and opened the large oak door.

Bond gave her best his charming smile. 'I’m sorry,' he said. 'He gets impatient.' 

'Just like his brother then,' she responded, turning her attention back to her computer. She began typing but stopped as she realized Bond was still standing at her desk. 'Yes?' 

'Oh, all right,' Bond replied, realizing the conversation was over. He began walking toward the door. 

Q had taken a seat inside in the chair directly across the desk from an empty chair. He placed a hand to his temple and pressed hard. The pain almost unbearable and causing his eyes to twitch. 

'It’s odd,' he began. 'He’s always here. Used to complain about having to do any legwork when he used to come to me with cases. Made it easier for him when I joined MI6. He could send an email or have M order me to do it and I could do it all online. I thought for sure he was here.' 

'Maybe he stepped out for lunch,' Bond asked, walking toward Q and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

Q smiled. 'We’ll just wait here for him. He’s bound to be back sooner rather than later. The country will fall into disarray if he’s missing for too long.' 

He looked up at Bond, his smile beginning to fade as he felt the ground begin to move. But the pain began to fade. 

\---

'Mycroft!' Sherlock called, throwing the office door open and storming in, John following close behind. He paused briefly to catch himself as the pain in head returned, worse than it had before. He pressed on. 'You knew! It wasn’t a real case at all.' 

The office was dimly lit, with dark grey walls and old wooden furniture that harkened back to the Cold War Era, even though Mycroft had not been in government then. Mycroft sat behind his desk, his hands folded carefully across a series of manila folders. His suit looked a bit worse for wear, wrinkles and what could possibly be small tears, pulling at the seams of the collar. For once, he looked like he was tired, but his expression remained neutral. John had made himself at home in one of the leather chairs against the wall near the door. 

Sherlock could feel the blood pulsing hard through his veins, the anger and hurt at the answer to this puzzle not being something clever. All of it irritated the pain in his head, causing it to spike further. He groaned. 

'You knew and you let me continue on anyway. I gave up a case to pursue this!' 

'No, you gave up a case to save John,' Mycroft replied cooly, not moving from his position behind his desk. 

'Either way! You already knew the answer. Kripe was feeding Moran information to give to the Koreans and that he had been a target for MI6!' 

'Brother, mine. I know you are angry, but I had--' 

The floor beneath them shook and a flash of light illuminated the area. Mycroft flickered as if he were a hologram. This couldn’t be real. It had to be an experiment of some kind or a hallucination. But it wasn’t. Mycroft was physically fading in and out. The pain faded from Sherlock’s head almost as if it hadn’t been razor sharp moments before. 

Sherlock ignored Mycroft’s flickering and turned to come face to face with a man who looked almost identical to him. He starred, not taking his eyes off of the man. He wore a blue cardigan sweater that buttoned up the front with a plaid button down underneath along with black trousers and thick-rimmed glasses. Sherlock swore he had raided John’s closet to come up with the outfit. Why on Earth would anyone beyond John dress like that? 

A man stood behind his doppelganger, who looked a bit like John. Military background was obvious and the man clearly continued to work for the government. MI6. Sherlock was almost sure of it. He had short blond hair and blue eyes and he was dressed in a grey suit with a tie. 

Sherlock stared at the man in front of him and reached out a hand. The doppelganger reached back. The two touched for a brief moment and a spark flew between their fingers. They each recoiled from the shock, their actions imitating one another. 

The room began to settle, leaving no indication of the disturbance. Mycroft ceased fading in and out and eventually settled back in his chair, a solid, opaque, real person once more. He reclined back in his chair, bringing his hands together to rest under his chin. 

'Fascinating,' he said, standing up from behind his chair carefully. He was unstable on his feet. 'There are two of you in one place.' 

Sherlock and Q both snapped their heads toward Mycroft. 'Care to explain?' they said together, though their voices each took on different tone and emphasis, Sherlock’s much harder than Q’s. 

'No,' Mycroft responded. He pressed his lips together and quickly pulled the manila folders off of his desk. He made one more glance between Sherlock and Q before standing and leaving with no further explanation. 

'What is happening?' John said, rising from his chair and moving toward Sherlock and Q. He looked between the two of them, clenching his fists at his side. 

'John, stop staring like you’re looking at some kind of spectacle. I am not an exhibit in a museum.'

'Sorry, I’m just--' 

'Fascinating,' Q interrupted, examining Sherlock’s face. 'It’s like looking in a mirror.' He turned to John.  '009, how did you know 007 and I would be here?'

Bond remained in his chair, observing and stoic. 

'I’m sorry,' John said. '009?' 

'Yes, Agent Watson. Did M. send you because Bond keeps dodging his phone calls?' 

Bond shot Q a slight glare before quickly returning to his stoic look. 

'009? Agent Watson? What?' John said. 

Q rolled his eyes and shot a look back to Bond, who offered a small shrug. 

Sherlock took a step back from his double, examining him. This wasn’t possible. There was no way that what he was seeing was a possibility. 

'Something is wrong,' Sherlock said. 

John rolled his eyes. 

'I can see you, John. You’re not invisible. Though in a moment, I might be,' he said, holding up his hand.

The hair on the back of his hand stood on end and the skin underneath tingled. He examined it closely, looking at the flesh beginning to dry and crack before his very eyes.  A frown crossed his face and he looked up at Q to see a similar phenomenon occurring. 

He turned to John. 'Find Mycroft! Now,' Sherlock ordered. 

John pressed his lips together and curtly nodded before leaving the room. 

Q turned his attention to Bond. 'So, it’s not just me,' Q said, walking to Bond and placing a hand on his shoulder. 

'It would appear that way.' 

Q turned and walked back to Sherlock, looking his double up and down. 'What’s your name?' Sherlock asked. 'I know this is Mycroft’s doing, I just need to know how.' 

'Q,' he responded. 

'Not your code name, your real name. Or if I’m likely to guess I’d say William Sherlock Scott Holmes.' 

'Yes, Mister Holmes. Mister William Sherlock Scott Holmes,' Q said. He turned away from Sherlock and walked to Bond, a sad smile crossing his face. 'You would be correct.'

Bond looked up at Q, watching as the top layer of his pale skin flaked and peeled away revealing new pink coloured skin underneath. He ran his fingers over the skin, enjoying its texture for the moment. 'So what happens now?' 

'I don’t know,' Q responded. He turned to look at Sherlock, his lips pressed together. 

'We wait for John,' Sherlock responded. He walked behind Mycroft’s desk and pulled open the top drawer and began rummaging through the stacks of folders. 'Until then, we see if Mycroft has left any details as to what he’s up to.'  

'He wouldn’t be that careless,' Q responded. 'You know how meticulous he is.' 

'Yes,' Sherlock responded. 'Meticulous and lazy.' Sherlock continued to flip through the pages in the manila envelopes. 

Q sighed and joined Sherlock behind Mycroft’s desk. 'Move,' he said, pushing Sherlock out of the way. 'Let me take a look at his computer.' 

\----

Sherlock looked at Q from the corner of his eyes and smirked before returning his attention to the papers in front of him. They continued working, not a word spoken between any of them. Sherlock had pulled almost every file out of Mycroft’s desk, while Q continued checking every corner of Mycroft’s computer and all of its attached drives and networks. But so far, the search had pulled up nothing. 

'He took them,' Sherlock said. 

'He did,' Q agreed. 'He knew we’d search--' 

'So he only kept one set of hard copies and he took them when he left,' Sherlock said. He pressed his teeth into his bottom lip. 

Q slumped back in the chair. 

The sounds of Sherlock’s phone buzzing broke the long silence that hung between them. He reached for it aimlessly, nearly pushing several of the manila folders onto the floor. 

'Found Mycroft,' the text message read.

‘Good,’ Sherlock thought, replacing the phone into his pocket.  

Sherlock looked up to see Bond staring at the both of them, a knowing smile on his lightly bloodied lips. He returned the smile and quickly returned to the papers in front of him. 

'John’s on his way back. He found Mycroft. Maybe we’ll get some answers now,' Sherlock said.

'Good. Good,' Q responded. He sighed and turned his attention to Bond. 'I’m sorry about all of this.' 

'Why?' Bond responded. 

'Because I should have known this was all Mycroft’s doing. The case was too simple. Too neat. It shouldn’t have taken me this long to see that Mycroft had set me up,' Q said.

Bond shook his head. 'You always do this,' he said. 

'Do what?' Q responded. 

'Degrade yourself over things that you can’t control. You still blame yourself for the Silva incident and your brother’s death,' Bond said. 

'Bond,' Q scolded. 

'Don’t pretend like you don’t. You do when you think I can’t see you,' Bond responded. 

Sherlock smirked, recalling Molly’s words from years before. 

'That’s hardly the point--' Q began. 

'Q, it is not your fault. There were numerous mistakes made by several individuals with the Silva incident. And you cannot hold yourself responsible for the car accident that killed your brother,' Bond continued through Q’s interruption.    

'What did you say?' Sherlock asked. 

Bond turned his attention to Q’s double.

'Well? Out with it! What was the very last thing you said?' Sherlock said. He rose from behind the desk and crossed the room. He stood in front of Bond. 

Bond licked his lips, clearing away more blood only for it to be replaced by more. 'Q cannot hold himself responsible for the car accident that killed his brother,' Bond repeated. 

'That’s what I thought I heard. Sherrinford did not die in a car accident,' Sherlock said. He turned pointedly and walked back to the desk. He picked up a pen, twirled it between his fingers and then dropped it. 'He died on a mission from MI6...saving me.' 

'No,' Q said. 'He died in a car accident.' 

Sherlock turned around and met Q’s eyes. 'What happened the day before Sherrinford died?'

'I was pursuing a case--' Q began. 

'Which led you to the warehouse, unarmed like an idiot, and up against one of the most dangerous men in the world,' Sherlock continued. 

'I staked the place out and then left for home, but I guess I didn’t clear my tracks well enough--'

'Because Hershel came and took you in the middle of the night. You woke up bound and gagged and bruised--' 

'And if it hadn’t been for Sherrinford showing up when he did, I would have died. They would have killed me.' 

'That’s it,' Sherlock said, his voice becoming sharp and focused. 'That’s the difference.' 

'Of course!' Q said.

'What?' Bond asked. 

'That’s why there are two Sherlock Holmes’ and why the very fabric of our beings are tearing apart,' Sherlock said. He held up his hand and slowly flexed his fingers.

'We aren’t meant to exist in the same space because we are the same person, Bond,' Q said.

'Then why am I being ripped from the universe?' Bond said. 

'Because you already exist. You have a different life here,' Sherlock said. 'And just as the two of us can’t exist, neither can the two of you.' 

‘So somewhere, possibly on a mission, there is another James Bond slowly disappearing into nothing?’

‘Yes,’ Q and Sherlock responded in unison. 

The door to the office opened, drawing the conversation to its natural close. Mycroft entered first, followed closely by John. 

'Well,' Mycroft began. 'You have me here, what do you want?' 

'The truth Mycroft,' Sherlock snapped. 'I dislike lies, brother mine, and I dislike them more when they are coming from you.' 

'Brother mine, the truths you’re not told are for your own protection and good. Besides you seem to already have figured out many of the truths yourselves,' Mycroft said. He walked and sat behind his desk. 

'I think this counts as something that I should know as it is violating my own good and protection,' Q said, a drop of blood running from his mouth. He lifted his hand to show Mycroft the third layer of skin that had begun to dry and crack. 

Mycroft took a deep breath and turned to look from Q to Sherlock. 'No,' he said. 

'What?' John said, lunging toward Mycroft. 'What do you mean ‘No’? Do you see what is happening to them? I’m a doctor and I’m not entirely sure what’s happening to them or why, but I’m pretty sure it has something to do with you.' 

'I don’t know what you’re talking about,' Mycroft responded. 

'You’re playing stupid, Mycroft and you’re not a stupid man,' John said. 

Sherlock smirked, blood running from between his teeth. Even in the face of total destruction of him and the world around him, his John was still defending him. 

'Mycroft,' Sherlock said. He took a deep breath. Breathing had suddenly become a difficult task for him, which was not entirely surprising considering that his entire being was breaking down.  'We need to see what’s in the files.' 

'I don’t know what you’re talking about,' Mycroft responded.

Q rolled his eyes. 'The files in your jacket. The ones you only have one copy of and have permanently erased all copies of on the networks. How did you manage that one by the way?'

Mycroft stood and smirked. He reached into his inside suit pocket and removed a folded white envelope. 'Ah. Yes. These documents are what I assume you are looking for,' Mycroft said. He placed the envelope on the desk. Then, he crossed the room heading toward the door, but Sherlock stood in his way. 

'Insufferable,' Sherlock said. He shook his head. 'We’re being torn apart molecule by molecule and you’re holding the--oh. Of course.'

'What?' John asked. 

'It’s obvious,' Sherlock said. 

'I would disagree with that,' Bond said, standing from his seat in the corner of the room. 

John gestured to Bond. 'See it’s not clear to all of us, genius.' 

'It’s to Mycroft’s benefit that we disappear,' Q said. 

'What?' Bond responded. 

'There’s no other reason why he would only have one copy of the files. Mycroft’s too meticulous. He’d have back-ups unless he didn’t want anyone to find them, which means it’s to his benefit that we disappear,' Q said. He opened the envelope, sifted through the documents and then looked up at Mycroft. 

He watched as a sense of horror crossed Mycroft’s face. His eyes became sharp and he quickly turned his back on the others in the room, looking intently at the book upon the shelves. 

Q nodded slowly. 'You didn’t expect this to happen,' he said. He looked down at his hands, muscle beginning to become visible under the last layer of skin. He continued to flip through and read each paper. 

'Well, it is happening Mycroft!' Sherlock said. 'And you need to find a way to stop it! Or--' 

'Or what?' Mycroft said. 

'Or you’ll be watching both of our timelines disintegrate into nothing,' Q said, looking up from the paper.


	9. Lestrade

**** The knock on the door was distinct, two solid knocks with a fist, which was quickly followed by a voice. 

'I know you’re in there. Anthea gave you up. I suggest you open the door,' the male voice bellowed over Anthea’s stern protests in the background. 

'Now look what you’ve gone and done,' Mycroft said, rolling his eyes. 'You should have just answered your mobile and told him you were busy.' He walked to the door and opened it. He smiled. 

'You’re not who I’m looking for, but we will be having words later,' Lestrade said. 'Sherlock, for god’s sake, if you had just answered your mobile. I’ve been trying to get hold of you for the last week. I’ve got a murder where the father died in the son’s arms after an argument. The girlfriend is claiming her boyfriend didn’t kill him, but we have no proof otherwise. He mentioned a weird sound coming from the backyard before his father died. Any suggestions?' 

He pushed past Mycroft into the room but stopped almost instantly. The words falling from his lips, unspoken. His eyes widened and his face grew pale at the sight of those in the room. Q, Sherlock and Bond each in blood soaked clothes with skin missing, revealing muscles and tendons, lost hair and ever so much blood.  

'The girl is telling the truth. Her boyfriend didn’t kill his father, he was running from an old gang he was a part of. They killed him, not the son. Check the father’s body for any incisions, the weird sound most likely came from the mechanism that fired the poisonous blow,' Sherlock said, his pace much slower than usual and a slight strain on his voice. 

'Something wrong Detective Inspector?' Q asked. 

Sherlock smirked, blood slowly pooling in his mouth. 'Yes, Lestrade. What seems to be the problem?' He stood from the chair he had been sitting in and approached him. He circled Lestrade, looking him up and down and taking in every piece of information he could. Lestrade tracking his movement. Sherlock glanced over to John, who simply sighed. 

'Yeah, yeah, all right,' Lestrade responded. 'Care to explain?'

'What is there to explain?' Sherlock said. He walked behind Mycroft’s desk and stood next to Q. He perched on the edge of the desk, his back to a majority of the room. He looked over his shoulder. 

'John,' Lestrade said, trying to hide the frustration in his voice. A disgusted look appeared on his face. 'What the bloody hell is going on here?'

'That is a very good question and I’m not sure I can answer it,' he responded.

'It’s obvious,' Sherlock said. 

'Here we go,' Bond mumbled. He rose from the chair he had been silently sitting in for the last hour and walked to stand behind Q. He wobbled as walked and the pain of moving in his deteriorating state made the short distance seem much longer. Once he had reached the other side of the room, he grabbed hold of Q’s hand and bent down to place a small kiss to the top of his head, leaving a small patch of blood in Q’s thinning hair. He stood for as long as he could before leaning against the bookcase behind Mycroft’s desk.

'Sit down, Gregory,' Mycroft said. He indicated a vacant chair next to John and opposite his desk.

Lestrade nodded and sat. He didn’t say anything and focused all of his attention on Sherlock, Q, and Bond. 

An eerie silence fell over the room, keeping even the most mundane of office noises from being heard. No ticking of the clock, no heavy breathing. Nothing, almost as if all of the sound had been sucked from that moment. 

'The truth,' Mycroft began. 'Is I don’t know how to fix this.' 

'Typical,' Sherlock muttered. 

Q flipped through more pages of the file on Mycroft’s desk, trying his best to avoid staining them with blood, but found nothing of use.

'Nothing,' Q said. 'Absolutely nothing. You were really hoping whatever your plan was would work.' His eyes began to widen and a hint of tears forming at the corners of his eyes. 

Bond approached him from behind and pulled him into his arms. 'It’s all right,' he whispered. 'We’ll be all right.'

John inhaled deeply and then stood. He walked to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around him if for not Sherlock’s comfort, than for his own. 

'What did you do?' Lestrade asked. He turned on Mycroft but didn’t rise from the chair. 

Mycroft said nothing. He stared down at the ground, a look of disappointment and fear passing over his face, before being replaced once more by his calm and neutral demeanor.

'I tried to change the past,' Mycroft said. 

'What?' Lestrade said. 'I knew you did stupid things Mycroft Holmes, but I never thought they would be as stupid as that. You can’t change the past.' 

'Well, I did,' Mycroft replied. 

'And this is what happened,' Lestrade said. He stood and looked over Bond, Q, and Sherlock. 'God help us all.' 

\----

Lestrade’s departure fifteen minutes earlier had left little comfort in the office. Words of hope and encouragement falling on deaf ears as he did. They knew he wouldn’t be able to find them any information of use, but he insisted he would try anyway.  

'It’s not possible,' Q finally said. 'He shouldn’t have been able to break the fixed point like that. Fixed points can’t be changed. Heisenopin experimented in fixed points in the fifties and his conclusion was pretty definitive.' He paced slowly in front of Mycroft’s desk, a slight limp in his step. One hand pressed against his forehead, while the other moved back and forth as if he were conducting an orchestra.

'Obviously, that is not the case,' Sherlock responded. 'We both are standing here talking with one another like children.' 

'Sherlock,' John said, a hint of warning in his voice. 

'What? We are! We are standing here while...my double here--' 

'He is not your double,' Bond said, standing and crossing the room. He stood in front of Sherlock, leaning in so his nose nearly touched his. 'I don’t know what you are, but Q is nothing like you.' 

'Or so you think,' Sherlock responded. He didn’t flinch. His pale grey-green eyes met Bond’s ice blue ones. 'We share nearly a lifetime of the same memories and experiences. We are the same the person on two different timelines, thanks to our brother here.' 

Bond didn’t respond, but he continued staring into Sherlock’s eyes. 'Just because you have similar experiences does not make you the same person,' Bond snapped. 

'Not similar ones,' Sherlock corrected. 'The same ones. The exact same ones. He can tell you as well as I that we weren’t well liked in university. That we spent much of our time studying and in the lab because if we hadn’t there was no one around to actually interact with us.' Sherlock looked over at Q, who hung his head. 'That we thought for the longest time we were asexual before dating Molly and realising that wasn’t the case at all. That--' 

'Sherlock,' Q whispered, interrupting him. 'Stop. You’re being unkind.'

'Unkind,' Sherlock said. 'I’m merely correcting Mister Bond on his facts. That we only appear as separate individuals because of something Mycroft has done and no other reason. If it wasn’t for him, one of us wouldn’t exist because there would only be one of us as there should be.' 

'Enough!' John said. He walked to Mycroft and turned him around. 'You didn’t think this through all the way. That seems to be a problem of yours.' 

'I didn’t--I never,' Mycroft began, but John cut him off. 

'You never dreamed that it would end like this? I seem to recall having heard those words or something similar to those words before. I prefer to not relive the scenario that followed,' John said.

'John--' Mycroft said.

Q looked at Sherlock, his bloody skin almost entirely gone from his face, and Sherlock watched as his expression turned to horror at the words. 'This has happened before?' 

'Not these exact circumstances, no,' Sherlock said. 'But, yes, Mycroft has made mistakes before. He’s helped solved them, but not before he created them entirely.' 

'Brother,' Mycroft started. 

'No,' Q said. 'That’s not possible. Mycroft would never--' 

'He would never what? Lie to you to protect you? Withhold information?' Sherlock slowly approached Q, his movements slow partly due to his physical presence being ripped apart, but only partly. 'You have a very warped view of our brother. He’s not--' 

'Sherlock!' Mycroft growled. 

'He’s not as good as you think he is,' Sherlock finished, ignoring Mycroft’s outburst. He looked at Mycroft over his shoulder and smirked. 

'Everything I’ve ever done, brother mine, has been to protect your well being,' Mycroft snapped. 

'Enough,' Bond said, his voice cutting through chaos. 

'Bond,' Q said. 

But Bond continued through Q’s interruption. 'We need a solution Mycroft,' Bond said. 

He pushed past the others to Mycroft’s desk, the papers from earlier in the day still scattered across the top of the desk scattering further as Bond sorted through them. 

'There’s nothing here,' Bond relented. 'Nothing is written down. But, I know how to get answers.' He moved slower than he was used to, but Bond’s hand found his way to the Walther he carried in his underarm carrier. He pulled it free and wiped the small trickles of blood on it onto his suit pants and then in a fluid motion, pointed it at Mycroft’s forehead, ready to be fired.

'007, what are you doing? Put your weapon down,' Q commanded. 

'Bond!' John shouted. 

'Finally,' Sherlock conceded. 

Mycroft stood perfectly still, his eyes fixed on Bond.

'Now,' Bond growled. 'The information.'  

Mycroft remained perfectly still. 

'You will tell me what I want to know, or I will pull the trigger,' Bond said. 

'And what would that accomplish, Mister Bond. Your only source of information would be dead and you would still be vanishing from existence. Let alone that you will murder the brother of your little boyfriend,' Mycroft responded. 

Bond considered for a moment but held the gun steady. 'I’ll do what needs to be done to get what I need.' Bond swung his arm to the side and the gun made contact with Mycroft’s face, forcing him to the ground. Bond bent down and pulled Mycroft to his knees. 'Do you still think I am playing?'

Mycroft stared back at the man, his eyes sharp.

Sherlock snickered. 'He's got a strong personality. I guess we still look for the same qualities no matter which life.' 

'Now is not the time, Sherlock,' John reprimanded, evaluating the situation as quickly as he could.

The office door opened, drawing everyone's attention and Anthea entered. She sighed and looked down at Mycroft still held in Bond's grasp. 

'You couldn't just tell them?' she asked.

'Why would I?' Mycroft responded, his voice harsh. 'There's nothing in the deal for me.'

'There will be nothing in the world for you if you don't,' she responded.

Mycroft pressed his lips together. 'Baskerville,' he said behind gritted teeth. 

'Baskerville,' Q reaffirmed. He paused for a moment. 'Of course! Baskerville. They’ve been experimenting with breaking fixed points in timelines for years now. Always been a low-level project though. They managed to figure out how to break swing points a few years back, but not enough conclusive research to release the information publicly.' 

Sherlock's eyes lit up. 'Obvious,' Sherlock said. 'You made them change it. You used your influence and you changed your history...our history.' He rounded on Mycroft, who was still being held by Bond. 

'Change what?' Mycroft asked. 

'Sherrinford’s death,' Sherlock said. 'Come off it Mycroft, that’s what you wanted to change. That’s what you’ve always wanted to change. You’ve always blamed me for his death--' His voice beginning to break as his 

'Sherlock,' John whispered.

'He blames you?' Q asked. 'It was an accident. Car accidents are unpredictable like that.' 

'Thank you for confirming that, Q. That is the exact point that he changed,' Sherlock said. 'Sherrinford didn't die in a car crash. At least that's not how I remember his death. No, he died slowly. His body wrapped around mine as he tried to shield me from the bullet being fired at me.' 

'So, now that you know which point was changed, we just need to figure out how to separate your timelines and things should be okay, right?' John asked. 

'In theory,' Q responded. 'There’s always a chance that the damage caused by Mycroft can’t be fixed.' 

'So, where do we start?' John asked.


	10. Baskerville

Set against the picturesque landscape of the Dartmoor, Baskerville still stood as a looming mystery over the town. The gate looked as they had nearly three years ago, large and intimidating, clearly meant to keep out those who did not belong. The range rover pulled up to the gate and Mycroft removed his badge from an inner jacket pocket, quickly swiping at the sensor and waiting.

'Please identify,' the military voice came over the speaker loud and clear. 

'Mycroft Holmes,' Mycroft responded. 'Priority one.' 

'Accepted,' the voice replied. 

The gate opened and Mycroft entered.

'You will handle this,' Bond said as Mycroft pulled into the designated spot to park. 'Or there will no doubt be further trouble no matter if we have survived or not.' 

Mycroft said nothing and exited the vehicle. John got out to follow. 

'As much as I don’t want to do this, it’s probably best if you three stay here,' John said. 

'No,' Sherlock replied. He hoisted himself up and met John’s eyes, though he could hardly make out John’s features. 'This is too important for Mycroft to fuck up. We’re coming.' 

He opened the door and exited the car, pulling coat around him in a flourish. Q and Bond followed in a similar manner, though their exit was much less grand. They caught up to Mycroft and found him engaged in a conversation with a corporal.

'Sir, under what orders are you here?' the soldier asked. 

'Take me to see Major Barrymore,' Mycroft said. 

\----

Sherlock’s eyes roamed the office as quickly as they could, taking in all of the minor changes that had occurred since the last time he had seen Major Barrymore. Maps tacked to cork boards still littered the walls, however, the markings on each map were different and the paper appeared newer. His books, however, which sat to the right of his desk, looked very much the same with several volumes on Churchill and Thatcher in the almost same place as they had been years ago. Sherlock smirked to himself. 

'Mister Holmes,' Major Barrymore said. 'I am trying to cooperate with you to the best of my abilities, but you are making this extremely difficult.' 

'I do not see the difficulty,' Mycroft said. He reclined back in the chair across from Barrymore’s desk and crossed his legs. 'It is a simple audit on a program. Shall I produce the paperwork for you?' 

'It’s not the audit that’s the problem, Mister Holmes,' Major Barrymore said. His eyes moved to Sherlock, John, Bond, and Q, all of whom stood in the back of the room looking gruesome. 'The programme was shut down nearly a decade ago. Most of the scientists assigned to the project have retired or been placed on other assignments.' 

Mycroft straightened himself and frowned. He sighed. 'Harriet Nichols,' Mycroft said. 

'What about Miss Nichols, sir?' Major Barrymore responded, his eyes continuing to focus on the other visitors in the room. 

'I know for a fact that Miss Nichols worked on the project and that she is currently still an employee at this facility. Though the programme has been shut down, I am here to make sure that there are no more loose ends.'

Major Barrymore focused on Mycroft. 'And who are they?' 

'My associates,' Mycroft responded. He stood and walked to the door. 'Now if you will kindly show us to Miss Nichols we will be on our way much faster than anticipated.' 

'Very well,' Major Barrymore conceded. He leaned back in his chair. 'She’s working down on the lower third level. The corporal will take you down and show you to her.' 

They filed out of the office and followed the corporal who had been waiting just outside of the door into the lift. When they reached their destination, three floors below the main level of the compound, they followed the corporal once again in silence. 

He led them to a small enclosure just off the main hallway. The walls were sterile white and the door made of heavy steel. A metal bookshelf stood in the far corner of the room, containing books from various subjects, indicating that this space was used for multiple purposes. Small workstations were set-up around the perimeter of the room with each desk pushed against the wall, leaving the center of the room open. 

'Miss Nichols,' the corporal said. 'Mister Holmes and associates to see you.' He turned on his heel and promptly left. 

A silver haired woman looked over her shoulder quickly and took a deep breath. She had a calm demeanour about her and as she approached them, Sherlock could see the stress of working at Baskerville for forty years that had marked her dark skin with wrinkles. 

'I knew you couldn’t leave this place alone,' she said. She shook her head and crossed her arms. 

'My apologies Harriet,' Mycroft said. 'I’m here--' 

'I know why you’re here. You’re here to talk about the T. A. S. project. It was shut down in 2005, in case they neglected to tell you that upstairs. Most of the records have been shipped off to the archives at this point. There’s nothing here to audit as I’m sure is your story. So what I don’t know is what exactly do you need?'

'I need to recreate a hole. I need to break a fixed point,' Mycroft said.

She shook her head. 'I told you the first time Mister Holmes that it was impossible to break a fixed point. We could break swing points with a hole, but nothing as significant as a fixed point.' 

'But, I did,' Mycroft said. 'I did break a fixed point.' He gestures to Sherlock, Q, and Bond standing not far behind him. 'They are the result of a fractured timeline and I need to repair it.' 

Sherlock watched as her attention shifted almost immediately to them. 'And what are you going to do? They are all living people. You can’t just snap your fingers and some of them disappear. You’re killing them now.' 

'I know,' Mycroft said. 'That was not the intent.' 

She looked back at Mycroft. 'You don’t need my help repairing a fractured timeline. You need my help to return some of your companions to their proper timeline.' 

\----

Q sat in a metal rolling chair behind one of the desks that faced the wall. The cold metal irritated his arse, but he ignored it. Bond stood alongside him, his blood crusted hand resting on Q’s shoulder. 

He looked over at John and Sherlock, who occupied a similar position on the opposite side of the room and then to Mycroft who stood, hands clasped behind his back staring at the white board that hung on the back of the door. Harriet Nichols circled the room, eventually making her way to the white board. 

'I just want to make sure that what I’m understanding is correct,' she began. 'When you walked through the hole in 2004, Mycroft, you managed to go back to Sherrinford’s death and you changed the circumstances under which they occurred. When you returned here, you promptly went back to your office, but the next time you left your office you were in--' 

'A different timeline, yes,' Mycroft snapped. 'We’ve been over the facts. I’ve been switching back and forth between timelines for ten years, while Sherlock has, in fact, become two separate people. And when I led them on the same path, I caused a transfer of one Sherlock from his timeline to merge with the other Sherlock.' 

'We are right here, Mycroft,' Sherlock snapped. 'You don’t have to speak to about us as if we don’t exist.' 

Q rolled his eyes. 'Changing the conversation back. That does mean that Bond and my timeline still exists.'

'It must,' Harriet said. 'If both timelines had converged, we’d all be disappearing in the same manner as you. There was simply one point, you.'

'So, what do we need to do?' John asked. He stood from his chair and took a place standing beside Harriet. 

'Well,' Harriet said. 'I think we need to create a hole and send someone back to change the circumstances for you all meeting.' 

'Won’t that create another splintered timeline?' Bond asked. He removed his hand from Q’s back and walked to stand next to John, staring at the white board.

'I don’t think so,' Harriet said. 'Your meeting wouldn’t be a fixed point. You’re in a unique situation though. This merge must be a swing point in that it doesn’t need to happen, but it creates a problem leading to other fixed points because it leads to a fixed point that was never meant to exist. This is going to be a large risk,' She glared at Mycroft. 

'So how do we create a hole?' John asked.

'That’s the more difficult part,' Harriet said. ‘We’re going to need some things from the lab and a way to keep you from deteriorating any further.’ 

\----

It had taken three days, but finally, a plan was in place. Sherlock watched helplessly as Harriet and Mycroft gave John instructions. His deterioration had reached a point that had him, Q and Bond were confined to chairs in the lab, no matter how uncomfortable. 

Harriet’s remedies to stop the bleeding and deterioration process had begun wearing off, which Sherlock figured was bound to happen sooner or later. He was surprised that they had lasted as long as they did. He wanted to move, but as he shifted in his chair, a suture behind his ear broke and began bleeding, the skin deteriorating almost instantly. 

'It’s simple,' Harriet said. She brushed a piece of hair from her face. 'Once the hole is open, you step in.' 

'You need to concentrate on where you should end up. You need to focus on my office on  Keep the moment in your mind that you need to change and let time and space do the legwork,' Mycroft said. 

‘What happens if I don’t land in the right time?’

‘Then, there is no fixing this timeline,’ Harriet said.

'Right. Ok. Good. And how do I get back?' John asked. 

'That,' Mycroft paused. 'Is not as simple.' 

'Mycroft.'

'No, John. Listen. You are the only one who can do this. You are the one who is physically able to move and you are not directly linked to the circumstances that caused the merge,' Mycroft said. 

'After you have made a change to the swing point,' Harriet interrupted. 'You’re going to feel a shift. It will hurt. I’m sorry, but memory revision is part of the process and you’ll be rewriting everything that has happened since the swing point. Once you’ve made the change, you will start to disappear, but not in the same way that they are. It will be a quick fade as this branch of the timeline won’t exist any longer and it breaks up. A version of you will take consciousness with no memory of this universe.' 

'Are you sure Mycroft won’t make the same mistake again and send us back into this same period?' John asked.

'That’s your job,' Mycroft said. 'You can’t let me. Use Anthea to help convince me. She knows about the two timelines.’ 

John nodded. He looked back to Sherlock, who smiled as best as he could despite the blood leaching from what had now become exposed muscle and nearly bone.

'You can do this John,' Sherlock said, his voice low and weak. 

'And if I can’t?' John responded.

'Well, we aren’t much more fucked then, are we?' Bond said, gravely and rough. He smiled the best he could, facing the same problems as Sherlock had earlier. 

'I guess that’s fair,' John said. He looked to Q, who was sitting next to Bond. 

'You can do this. I have seen you do great things Agent 009 and this will be no different,' Q said. 

He took a deep breath and made a military turn toward Sherlock. He placed his hand under his chin and lifted his head so that their eyes met. 

'No matter what happens, I will be back. Do you hear me, Sherlock Holmes? I love you and I will be back,' he said. He placed a light kiss on Sherlock’s forehead, ignoring the blood that stained his lips, and then walked back to Mycroft and Harriet. 

'Ready John?' Harriet asked.

'As I’ll ever be,' John responded.

‘You need to focus on October 24, 2015. That’s the date that I decided to give you the case. Good luck,’ Mycroft said.

Sherlock felt the tension building in his hands as he watched Harriet touch what appeared to be a screwdriver with some copper wiring attached delicately to a tiny crack in a tea cup. The light that emanated was a bright, pure white and with every second exposed it dimmed. He cursed the fact that he was confined to the chair and unable to help John or experience the hole himself.

John steadied himself, head up, shoulders back, and then he took a deep breath and walked forward. The light engulfed him completely as he placed his finger delicately on the crack above the screwdriver. Sherlock’s eyes widened as he watched John’s figure fade and he could feel himself unconsciously holding his breath, but try as he might, he could not exhale.

The light continued to glow for a few moments after John passed, growing dimmer every minute and then it vanished entirely as if it had never existed. Sherlock exhaled, finally, and pressed his lips together. 

'And now we wait,' Mycroft said. He took a seat in a chair at the front of the room. He looked at Q, Bond and Sherlock each sitting in their chair. 'He will come back. He’s a capable man.' 

\----

The deterioration was the worst part, Q decided. Not that the situation itself wasn't buggered, but he had been able to deal with most of the other obstacles. The deterioration, however, was the one that scared him. What if he never regained full motor function or complete eye sight again? What if he was stuck like this for the rest of his life even if they managed to separate the worlds? What if 009 failed to convince Mycroft? 

Bond and he had made their way to the lab as they had for the past six mornings and took their seats in the cold metal chairs. Q moved his chair closer to Bond's and leaned his head on Bond's shoulder. Bond winced slightly from the sensitivity but ignored the pain. They breathed together and the world for a moment seemed at ease. 

'I hope 009 is able to resolve this problem,' Q whispered. His speech had finally begun to go. Not much longer and he was sure they would be entirely gone. 'I can only imagine the problems we're going to be facing when we return home.' 

'Always thinking about work,' Bond chuckled weakly. 'I'm sure they've been getting on without us. Besides, Doctor Nichols said we would return with no memory of the merge. All that matters to me is that I have you.' He smiled what could be considered a smile with the semblance of teeth he had through the crusty blood around his mouth. 

The door to the lab opened, just barely wide enough for someone to pass through. Sherlock, closely followed by Mycroft, entered. They each took up their respective chair and the silence that had been the norm for the last three days continued. 

'What’s taking him so long?' Sherlock complained, his voice breathy. 

'He’s undoing months of damage,' Mycroft said. 'And I believe I’m not just accepting his recommendation to not merge the timelines. It’s not an easy task. He’s rewriting everyone’s past, not just ours.' 

'I have three agents that seem to do the inevitable,' Q spoke up slightly. 'He is one of them, so I have every faith that he will.' 

Q and Sherlock nodded at one another and the silence returned between them. 

\----

Minutes, then hours ticked by on the lone clock in the lab. It quickly approached two o'clock in the morning, and they began to situate themselves to retire back to their bunks on the base when a beam of light burst through a small crack in the spine of a book. The room began to shake, knocking books and other pieces of equipment to the floor. Cylinders and vials shattered as they hit the concrete.

Q and Bond huddled to their knees and Bond covered Q's head from any falling debris. Sherlock stood for as long as he could looking out at the light and watched as it widened. Q looked up at him for a moment, his eyes full of sympathy. 

'I hope he comes back to you,' Q whispered. 

The light grew more intense as the crack expanded and a shadow moved within. Mycroft grabbed at Sherlock's sleeve and attempted to pull him down to the ground, but he pulled away, his eyes fixed on the figure within the light. He could feel his breath catching in his throat, but try as he might he couldn't exhale. 

The room began to shake more violently and Sherlock turned to look at Mycroft, Q, and Bond and then down at his own hands. He watched as they flickered and started to become translucent.  

'He did it,' he said. 'John's done it!' He smiled and returned his attention to his hands. He looked once more to the light emanating from the crack in the book before the entire room was engulfed in hot white light and Sherlock's consciousness gave out.


	11. Define Normal

Q stared at the blinking dot on the screen. He sighed and then typed a command on the screen. It zoomed into the surrounding area. What on Earth was Bond thinking? He pressed a few fingers to his temple and rubbed. A headache began to take shape behind his eyes and it had become agitating. 

Q typed another command and the maps on the screen shifted to another perspective. His eyes narrowed as Bond 

'Bond, you need to turn right,' Q said. 'You’re going to run into a market in the older part of the town once this street opens up, you should be able to lose the tail at that point. Once you’re in the center, take the street near the old church and follow it up into the New Town of the city. I’ll have a car sent for extraction.' 

He watched as the tiny red blinking dot that indicated Bond began moving and then he motioned to R, who stood just slightly behind him. He pulled the earpiece from his ear and placed it on his desk. 

She stepped forward. 'Yes, sir?' she asked. 

'Takeover, please. I will be back momentarily,' he said. 

She nodded curtly and took a step forward, picking up the earpiece from the desk. She positioned it in her ear and looked up at the screen of Bond’s moving dot. Q quickly turned on his heel and walked toward his office. 

He arrived just outside and took a deep breath. He placed his hand behind his neck, stretched and then reached for the door. The handle twisted easily, which sent an alarm to Q’s mind. The door had been locked when he left to run Bond’s mission, but now it definitely was unlocked.

Something about this situation felt familiar, but Q could not place the memory. He straightened and steadied himself and pushed the door open. 

A man dressed in a fine three-piece grey suit sat in one of the chairs in front of his desk, a smirk plastered across his face.

'Of course, Mycroft. I should have known,' Q said. 

'Yes, brother mine,' Mycroft responded. 'Were you expecting someone else?' 

'I wasn’t entirely certain who to expect since I locked the office after I left.' Q smirked as he He shook one loose and reached for the teacup on his desk, now containing cold and perhaps old tea. Q didn’t care. He threw the small pill into his mouth and took a swig of the tea to wash it down, and then he turned on Mycroft. 

'Is there a reason you’ve come? Brother mine.' Q’s eyes locked on Mycroft and refused to move. 

'Yes, as a matter of fact, there is,' Mycroft said. He paused for a moment and reached inside his suit jacket and removed a flash drive. 'Take a look and let me know what you think.' 

Mycroft smirked and then stood, buttoning his coat before leaving. 

Q watched him go, and then looked down to the flash drive sitting on the edge of his desk. What was Mycroft playing at? 

\----

Sherlock laid on the sofa of 221B Baker Street. His hands steepled, he pressed them to his lips. He'd become so bored with the morning that he had taken to counting the small holes in the ceiling tiles, though they seemed to multiply the longer he stared at them.

The sound of footsteps coming up the stairs--two steps at a time, deliberate and fast--John, he recognized immediately, brought him out of his daze.

'John!' Sherlock called before his footsteps had reached the top of the step. 

Sherlock swung his legs to the floor and the room began to spin. 'John!' Sherlock groaned. He placed his head in his hands and pressed his fingers into his eyes. 

'Sherlock,' John said as he reached the top of the stairs. 'What’s wrong? What’s happened?' He dropped the bag he had been carrying up the stairs near the entrance to the door and shrugged his jacket off quickly. 

Sherlock didn’t respond but took a deep breath. He exhaled slowly and opened his eyes, turning his head to see John. 'It came on very suddenly,' he said. 

'Did you--' John began. 

'No, John. I did not do anything differently. I was counting ceiling tiles, you can’t get much more boring than that,' Sherlock said. 

John pulled Sherlock upright and took hold of his hands. 'Let me get you some paracetamol. You should be fine. Sounds like a migraine,' John concluded. He stood and walked toward the bathroom, disappearing briefly inside. Then he reappeared carrying his medical kit. He knelt down between Sherlock’s legs and opened the bag, pulling out a small bottle. He shook a small white pill free and then placed it in Sherlock’s hand and closed his fingers around him. 

Sherlock smiled and dry-swallowed the pill. 'Thank you, John,' Sherlock said. He was quiet for a moment. 'You filed the petition today, didn’t you?' 

John pressed his lips together. 'It’s been a long year. Mary and I have spoken about it, so yes. I did.' 

Sherlock followed John’s movement with his eyes. Watching carefully as he placed his hand on Sherlock’s knee and used it as leverage to help himself to his feet. Once he was to his feet, John straightened out his jumper and then bent down and pressed a small, quick kiss to Sherlock’s lips before grabbing his kit and returning it to the bathroom. 

Sherlock sat frozen for a moment until his mobile dinged with a text. He moved precisely and reached for his phone, staring at the message written across the screen. 

 

_ Case. Important. Please contact immediately. MH _

 

He threw the phone back to the coffee table. It made a thump as it hit. Sherlock ran his fingers through his hair and then over his entire face. He shook his head and sighed. Then, he threw himself back onto the couch, wrapping himself in his dressing gown in a large flourish. 

'Who’s that?' John asked as he returned from the bathroom. He approached Sherlock and rolled his eyes. 

'Mycroft,' Sherlock grumbled. 

'I should have just guessed. What did he want?' John said. 

'He has a case,' he replied. 

'So are you going to call him back and take it?' John asked. 

'No,' Sherlock replied. 

'You know if you don’t call him back, he’s just going to come here--' John began. 

'Your point John?' Sherlock retorted.  

He paused and looked at Sherlock, who was now staring at him, a smirk crawling its way across his lips. 'You're doing this on purpose,' he said. 

'Why would I not? It's more amusing for all involved to watch Mycroft come here to convince me to take the case,' Sherlock said. 

John rolled his eyes and then moved to the kitchen. He opened the cabinets and procured three mugs and placed them all on the counter. Then he filled the kettle with water and placed it on the hob. 'Never hurts to be prepared,' he said. 

\----

Q scrolled through the contents of the flash drive, running his hands through his hair and over his face as he did. Mycroft could not be serious about this case and yet here he was combing through these files. 

A knock on the door drew his attention from his screen. He stared for a moment, frozen and then quickly locked his computer. 'Come in,' he said. 

'Bloody agents, the lot of you,' Eve said, pushing the door open. 

'I’m not an agent,' Q retorted. 'I just work with them.'

'You might as well be. You act like one enough,' she responded. 

'What did I do now to deserve this kind of treatment?' he asked, amusement tinting his tone. 

'I saw your brother leave. Brought you a mission didn’t he,' she teased. 

Q rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair. He gestured for Eve to sit in the chair opposite his desk. 

She smiled and sat in the chair, adjusting her mustard yellow skirt so that it sat properly just below her knees.

'Yes, well. We can’t all have family that let them alone at work now can we?' Q said. 

'So it was a mission,' she said. 

'I am not at liberty to say,' he said. 

She sighed overdramatically and stretched out a bit in the chair. 'So, is your head feeling any better? R was worried.' 

'Yes,' Q responded. 'Some paracetamol and it's gone.' 

'Good. Didn’t want it to be anything serious,' Eve said. 

'No we wouldn’t want that indeed.'

The door to the office pushed open, drawing both of their attention to it. R, her hand still on the door knob, looked slightly terrified back at them.

'I’m sorry,' she said immediately. She began to turn away and pull the door shut behind her. 

'No, no,' Q cut in. 'No need. You aren’t interrupting anything.' 

R paused and returned. She placed a manila folder on Q’s desk. 'It’s all there. You just need to sign off on it, but 007’s mission has been successfully been completed,' she said. 'And if you don’t mind, sir, I’m going to take my break.' 

'Of course,' Q responded. He picked up the folder, waved her out and began to skim it over. 

'So, I take it a celebration will be in order when Bond returns,' Eve teased. 

'Shut up,' Q said, not looking up from the report. He flipped to another page and then shut the file, looking back at Eve. He sighed. 

Eve raised her hands in mock surrender. 'All right, all right. I get the message. I’ll go,' she said, standing and making her way to the door. 'But if you’re in here happy tomorrow, I’ll know why.' She pulled the door shut behind her. 

Q rolled his eyes and returned his attention back to his computer. What was he going to do about this case? 

\----

Sherlock waltzed around the flat, his violin tucked under his chin and his bare feet plodding on the floor. His dressing gown swishing around him as he twirled and scraped his bow across the strings. 

John poured the hot water into three mugs and placed a tea bag into each mug. He tried to hide the smile that was pulling at his mouth, but was failing at accomplishing the task. 

Mycroft sat in the sitting room, eyes closed and his hand rubbing at his temple. He sat back in the chair. 'Is it really necessary for you play so indecently?' he asked. 

'I am creating Mycroft!' Sherlock shouted in return. He continued to pull the bow across the strings causing them to shriek and moan. 

'Creating what? A new method of torture? I’m sure MI6 will be pleased,' Mycroft responded. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes and continued on his course of action. 

Once the tea had steeped, John placed sugar in two of the mugs, a splash of milk in one of them and carefully brought them into the sitting room. 

'Ah,' Sherlock said. He placed his violin inside of its case and took his chair opposite John. 'Finally.'

'Now you’ll disperse with that awful racket?' Mycroft snapped. 

'For the moment,' Sherlock responded. He picked up the mug John had placed in front of him and took a long sip, ignoring the extreme temperature of the drink. 'Why are you here, Mycroft?' 

'A man from the MOD went missing a few days ago, but he turned up earlier this morning for work as normal. We need to find out where he was for the few days that he was missing,' Mycroft said. He picked up his tea and took a drink. 

'And your surveillance of the city has not proved sufficient enough? You can see every inch of the city, shouldn’t be that hard to spot him,' Sherlock said. 

'Brother mine, I would not be here if it were that simple. The strange thing about this case is that our man simply vanishes in all the video feeds for the days that he was missing,' Mycroft said. 

'Now that is interesting,' Sherlock responded. He sat back in his chair, his eyes coming alight with interest. 

'Can I expect you to take the case?' Mycroft asked. 

'No, I’m sorry. I can’t possibly take the case. Much too busy,' Sherlock responded. 

John looked between the two brothers and then he sat back in his chair. He took a drink of his tea, resigning himself to not understand what was happening.

'Fine,' Mycroft snapped. He stood and rebuttoned his suit jacket, rolling his eyes as he did. 'Do let me know if you change your mind.' Then he turned and left. 

'You do that just to annoy him,' John said after they heard the door shut. 'You’ve got nothing on and you won’t take his case, even after you showed a clear interest.' 

Sherlock smirked. 'Come on John, we have work to do.' 

He stood and kissed John quickly and then reached for his mobile, sending a quick text to Mycroft. 

_ I’m on the case. SH _

He threw off his dressing gown, quickly put on his shoes and then reached for his and John’s coats. Tossing John’s to him, he pulled on his own scarf. 'Let’s go!'

'Five minutes ago you weren’t interested, now we’re running out the door. I give up on you Sherlock,' John complained fondly. 

'You love me,' Sherlock said. 

'Yes, I do,' John responded. 

'Then let’s go! The game, John, is on!' Sherlock said. He grabbed hold of John’s hand and the two of them swept down the stairs and out the door, as was common for the start of their adventures. 

\----

Q ran his hands over his face and took a deep breath. 

'Long day?' a voice said from the front of his office.

Q looked up, startled slightly, but relaxed when he spotted familiar blue eyes staring back at him. 'What are you doing here?'

'Got back earlier than expected. Thought I’d stop in and surprise you,' Bond said, a smile crossing his face. 'Look, I even brought my equipment in one piece.' 

'That was lovely of 007. I’m glad to see my persistent nagging has paid off,' Q chuckled.  'I missed you.'

'I missed you as well,' Bond said. He pushed himself off from the place he was leaning on the wall and approached Q. He placed both of his hands on Q’s desk and leaned forward. 'Do I get something for returning my equipment?' 

'You get to not file a missing equipment report. Sounds like a victory to me,' Q said. 'Perhaps at home, something will be waiting for you.' 

Bond smiled and stood up straight. 'Then I shall leave you to your work and will see you at home.' 

'Yes. Now, get out,' Q said, shooing Bond from the room.

Once Bond was gone, Q returned to his computer and skimmed through the files from Mycroft’s flash drive once more.

After a few moments, and several rereads of the files, Q reached for the phone that lived on the cabinet behind his desk. He quickly dialed the number and waited. 

'Mycroft Holmes please?' He asked. 'I’ll wait.' 

He breathed in relief as the phone simply clicked into waiting mode and not some of the awful waiting music some of the other departments had begun adopting. He tapped his fingers on his desk and finally the line patched over. 

'Mister Holmes’ office,' a female voice said from the other end of the line. 

'Anthea, it’s Q. I need to speak with Mycroft.' 

'One moment, sir,' Anthea responded. The line went silent briefly and then clicked back over to Anthea. 'Mister Holmes will speak with you, Mister Holmes. Let me transfer you. Please hold.' 

'Fine,' he responded. He waited as the line clicked again and then rang. 

'Mycroft Holmes here,' Mycroft said.  

'Hello, Mycroft,' Q responded. 

'Ah. Sherlock. How can I help you?' Mycroft asked. 

'The case, brother mine. I will not take this case,' Q said.

'But--'

'No, Mycroft. There are other projects that require my immediate attention. Get someone else.' 

'Have you--' 

'Get someone else,' Q bit out and then hung the phone back on the receiver, severing the call. 

He took a deep breath and pulled the flash drive from his computer. Tossing it in his hand once, he reached into a bottom desk drawer and removed a mustard yellow interoffice envelope. He shoved the flash drive inside of it, sealed it and then scrawled on the front of it with the nearest pen he could find on his desk. 

 

_ Mycroft Holmes. Home Office. MI5.  _

 

He picked up the envelope and tossed the pen to a place on his desk. Then, he quickly shut down his computer and locked up his office for the evening. 

On his way out, he stopped by R’s desk in the bullpen of the other Q Branch techs. He could see them all scrambling to start working as he approached. 

'Feeling better sir?' R asked when she saw him approach from the corner of her eye.

'Yes, much. Thank you,' he responded. 'Might I ask that you slip this into the interdepartmental mail when you have a moment?' 

'Of course, sir,' she responded. She turned away from her computer and smiled up at Q. 'Have a good evening sir.' 

'And you,' he responded. He handed her the envelope and nodded. Then he turned and continued toward the parking garage. For once his mind was clear and at ease, though the thrill of Bond waiting for him at home played on the edges of it. He smiled and pressed on, leaving the stress of the day behind him and the promise of a 'normal' day tomorrow. 


	12. Epilogue

Mycroft rubbed his eyes and placed the phone back on the receiver that sat on the side of his desk. The door to his office opened and he looked over at the figure standing in the doorway. 

'Well?' Anthea asked. 

'No,' Mycroft responded. 'While Sherlock and John took the case, Sherlock...Q, refused.' 

Anthea nodded. She walked to Mycroft and placed a hand on his shoulder. 'I’m sorry,' she said. 'Perhaps it’s for the best. You don’t know the consequences that rebuilding your timeline could induce.'

They stood in silence for a few moments and then Mycroft rose from his chair, dislodging Anthea’s hand. He turned off his computer, put on his greatcoat and turned to Anthea, a bit of sadness in his eyes. 

She placed a hand on his face and smiled lightly. 'It’s not in your timeline to fix what you’ve done,' she said. 

'I suppose not,' Mycroft responded. He rested his hand over Anthea’s and then, taking her hand, left his office as he had every time he was in this timeline.


End file.
